The Illusion of Freedom
by caisha702
Summary: I volunteered for the 66th Hunger Games because I thought my victory would set me free. But freedom is just a word, an illusion that can never be reality for someone like me. I was a fool, and now I will have to pay the price. Cashmere's POV  continued
1. Chapter 1

**And so it begins again! Well, carries on... (So if you are reading this and haven't read the first part - be warned, there is a large cast of OCs involved so it might not make sense)**

Chapter One 

They say that a victor never forgets the faces of the twenty-three other tributes they went into the arena with, and I can say for certain that is true. Even nearly six months after I was lifted from the arena of the Sixty-sixth Hunger Games, the living nightmare that I alone survived, I remember it like I was there only yesterday. It haunts my dreams every night and Gloss has long since got used to waking in the early hours of the morning to the sound of my terrified screams, which somehow travels through even the thick walls of my new house.

It's got easier though, if that's the right word to use when there's hardly ever a moment where I can completely forget about the Games and what I did. I like living here in my house in the Victor's Village because it's mine, and that means I can shut the door on everyone if I choose to. Since the arena, I frequently do.

I don't go out very much either, and much to my father's disappointment and disgust, I haven't been seen at a party for at least four months. Father doesn't understand or care about what I feel. I don't think he ever will, especially because he doesn't even try to. Gloss and I often wander around the district though, sometimes talking, sometimes in silence, but always together. I don't go out alone anymore unless I have no choice and I am dreading leaving for the Victory Tour tomorrow more than I can say.

Just as he promised, Falco visits District One with a regularity I worry will become suspicious to those in the Capitol, always because of 'official business', of course. Gloss teases me and calls me 'Official Business' instead of 'Cashmere', but I know he understands really. It took two people to help me put myself back together into a person who vaguely resembles the girl who volunteered for the Sixty-sixth Hunger Games, and it still takes two people to keep me in one piece. My brother knows that.

* * *

"Cashmere? It's just the same as yesterday, Cash," urges Gloss gently. "Walk to me and then we can walk together."

I take a hesitant step towards my brother, trying to ignore my sister's quiet but mocking laughter. Whatever Gloss says, it isn't just the same as yesterday because she's here, watching my every move. I've known since the day I returned from the Capitol that Satin is desperate to go running to our Father and tell him how unstable I am. The worst thing is that the more I think about trying not to react, the more my senses all go flying into overdrive.

"We can go the other way if you want."

"No, Gloss, it's fine," I manage eventually, peering into the almost darkness of the passageway which leads around the back of the Justice Building.

I have walked this way hundreds of times in the past, both before I became a Hunger Games tribute and after I returned home as a victor. It's the quickest way to get from the main town square to the Victor's Village, but it's also a narrow, enclosed space that surrounds whoever walks down it with seemingly limitless walls that block out all of the light.

Over the past six months, I've been getting better. Gloss has noticed and so has Falco, and they would know because they've both been helping me. They saw what I was like when I first returned from the Capitol, so they both know that I win a small victory every time I walk through this passage without freezing in terror as the memories of the arena it reminds me so greatly of come crashing back down over me.

That's also just like they know that every time they walk into a room without me noticing and I merely jump slightly when I finally see them rather than diving to my feet and reaching for the nearest thing I can use as a weapon is a sign that I'm starting to get over competing in the Games. It's been a while since I did that, but even now Falco is sure to make a lot of noise before he walks into the kitchen. We joke about it now, but when I raised a knife to him, it wasn't him I was seeing but someone else entirely, a nameless and faceless enemy who haunts my nightmares as he or she stalks me around the endless corridors of the arena. The mere thought of what I could have done terrifies me as much as the arena ever did.

"Hurry up then," Gloss calls, holding out his hand to me and smiling encouragingly.

I stare into his dark eyes, never looking away from him or even daring to blink as I take another tentative step forwards. I can hear the water dripping down the walls despite how the rational part of my mind knows it exists only in my head. I can see the cold metal walls surrounding me even though logic tells me that in reality they are made of brick. The screams of the dying tributes echo around me, and I gasp for a breath that is suddenly a lot harder to take than it was when we were back in the main square.

"What _is _wrong with you?" snaps Satin, who I am convinced is only with us because she wants to be seen going to and from the Victor's Village as much as possible. "You were always unstable, Cashmere, but this is ridiculous."

Ironically, it's her cruel words that penetrate through my haze of disorientated panic rather than my brother's gentleness, which has always worked in the past, and I feel something that resembles my old arrogant glare settle on my face as I turn to answer her.

"Why don't you go on ahead?" I snarl disdainfully in response. "Or better still, why don't you run along home? You do know that I have no intention of inviting you into my house until you can talk to me in a civilised manner, don't you, _sister dearest_?"

Without even realising it, I have made it into the passageway to stand beside Gloss. I smile gratefully at him when he reaches out to take my hand, anchoring me into the present and keeping the past at bay like he always does.

We make it to the gate that leads to the Victor's Village without me having another panic attack, and when we get to the house my brother and I call home, it is to find my mother waiting outside. She hugs Gloss and Satin, and then finally gets to me. She embraces me too, but as usual, there is something in her eyes that tells me she isn't convinced I won't lash out at her or do something to confirm everything I'm sure my sister has made up about me.

"I wanted to see you before you leave," she says. "I wanted to wish you luck."

I smile, trying to maintain the façade that everyone but Gloss and Falco always see, trying to maintain the pretence that I am still the person who left District One to compete in the Games.

"Thank you," I reply, sounding far too formal considering I'm talking to my mother, but I suppose my mother and I have never exactly had a 'normal' mother-daughter relationship so it's no great shock really. Even though I've made the effort to spend more time with her since I came back from the arena, I still feel like I hardly know her.

"I'll see you when you come back from the Capitol."

"You will," I reply, managing to resist telling her to just go ahead and put her order in for the dresses she wants because I know that's why she's really here.

Even though I say nothing, she must pick up my emotions from my voice, because she quickly picks her bags back up and looks ready to rush away. It's a strange feeling, to be feared by my own mother, and it isn't one I like.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mother," interrupts Gloss, filling our awkward silences like he always seems to. "In the evening."

When I've gone. That's what he means but doesn't want to say. He looks at me then, swiftly unlocking the door in a way that tells me he knows I've got him worked out. As if it would ever be otherwise. He lets me go ahead of him before whispering a few words I can't hear to Mother and leaving her and Satin standing on the front step.

We walk to the kitchen and begin our usual routine of preparing something for us to eat later, before moving into the sitting room and talking about everything but the Hunger Games. I don't bring up the subject of the tour or even mention the Capitol at all, and much to my relief, he doesn't either. If we both pretend it isn't happening then I can still allow myself to cling to the futile hope I have that it won't.

* * *

I jump when I hear the soft knock at the door. I hadn't been expecting it so it frightened me. That's the way it is now. I cross the massive kitchen slowly, allowing my heart rate to settle back into a normal rhythm. I stand by the door but make no move to open it.

"Who is it?" I call out softly.

"Let me in, Butterfly. I haven't got all night."

I throw open the door so Falco can step inside before quickly slamming it shut behind him. Then I spin around and stand there staring up at him, not quite convinced he's real.

"If I'd known I'd get a reception like this then I'd have come sooner," he remarks dryly.

I throw myself into his arms in response, clinging to him so tightly I am lifted off my feet. Then we abruptly release each other at the same time, not making eye contact for several seconds, not until there is a couple of metres distance between us. When we are apart, I can almost convince myself that Capitol and District could never work, but then I see him and end up right back where I started. My only consolation is that the look in his eyes tells me better than any words that I'm not the only one struggling with my emotions.

"You're not supposed to be here until tomorrow," I say eventually. "How come you're early?"

"I'm supposed to be in a meeting with your district's mayor," he replies with a sly smile. "I suppose some people would say I'm playing truant."

"So you're supposed to be doing something useful and instead you're here frightening me to death by knocking on my door in the middle of the night?"

"It's hardly the middle of the night, Cashmere," he says with a smirk as he steps closer to me again, backing me against the door. I stop breathing but I don't protest. "And as for the rest, I'm sure it wouldn't be too difficult for me to convince anyone who asked of your usefulness, so technically I wouldn't be at fault."

"For the sake of my mental health, I will pretend I didn't hear that," announces Gloss as he strolls into the kitchen. "Hello, Falco," he continues casually, and I smile at how relaxed the two people I love most in the world have become in each other's company.

"Gloss, did you say four boxes left here?" asks Falco in reply, not letting me go despite my brother's presence as he picks up what is obviously the continuation of a previous conversation.

"Yes," Gloss replies, and now I've had time to think about it, I remember them talking about the latest shipment of newly-cut diamonds to leave the district for the Capitol the last time Falco was here.

"That's strange, because only three were registered as having arrived in the city," says Falco, and I can see from the look in his eyes and hear from the tone of his voice that the consequences aren't going to be good for the person who was doing the registering.

"You're early," states Gloss, already taking an extra plate from the shelf and setting another place for dinner.

"I escaped," he replies with a smirk. "I missed your sister."

"I've no idea why. She's a nightmare to live with."

"How could you be so cruel, brother mine?" I ask, pouting as we sit down at the kitchen table.

They both laugh at me, but soon we all fall silent, running out of things to say to avoid discussing the Victory Tour and the fact that this time tomorrow, I will be on a train headed for District Twelve and the whole nightmare will start all over again. When we've finished eating, Gloss rises to his feet and leaves the room, kissing the top of my head as he passes me, telling me that he'll see me in the morning some time before the People from the Other World descend and take over.

"Who exactly are the 'People from the Other World'?" asks Falco with an amused look on his face that tells me he knows precisely who my brother was talking about.

"He means Capitol people," I reply flatly, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh.

"Does that include me?" he replies, pretending to be angry with me. "If it does, then I'll just go."

He rises to his feet and heads for the back door, not turning around even though I know he must have heard me following him. I reach out and grasp his arm, and only then does he face me, pulling me tightly against him. We stand there in silence for several minutes until he eventually speaks.

"I wish you didn't have to do this," he says softly.

"So do I, but I can't change the way things are. I'll get through it somehow. But don't you dare leave me."

He lifts me up and carries me to the other side of the kitchen before putting me down without letting me go. He kisses me briefly before stepping back so his eyes meet mine.

"I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

"I don't think it's really a good idea to let the cameras see this, do you?"

I open my eyes at the sound of the familiar voice that I have only heard on the telephone since I left the Capitol nearly six months earlier.

"Felix!" I cry, making Falco laugh as I leave his arms to throw myself into those of my stylist.

"Still can't sleep then?" says Felix quietly, his voice telling me he knows that isn't the only reason Falco stays with me.

I roll my eyes and let him drag me out of the room and down the stairs. We get that far and then he pulls me to a halt when we reach the bottom.

"I didn't think you'd be here this early," I say.

"That much is obvious," he replies amusedly, before continuing in a much more serious tone without giving me the chance to roll my eyes a second time. "There's a massive crowd of reporters and camera crews at the station. Your tour is big news back in the Capitol so we have our orders to make sure you're ready."

"Ready for what?" I ask. "To meet the families of the people I killed? I think it will take more than a pretty dress to make me ready for that."

He shakes his head sadly, pulling me into a hug and then letting me go a second later. "I know, but nobody has a choice here, you understand that as well as I do."

I nod before continuing with a brightness I don't really feel inside. "Where are they then? Drusilla will be devastated that I didn't keep putting the gold nail varnish on."

"They're in the sitting room," he replies laughingly. "I'm relieved they're finally going to see you again actually, because it's been 'Cashmere this' and 'Cashmere that' and 'Wouldn't that look good on Cashmere' ever since you left. I'm looking forward to having a new topic of conversation that doesn't involve you."

I'm still laughing as I push open the sitting room door, still looking back at Felix. That's why I'm nearly knocked off my feet as two brightly coloured blurs propel forwards and crash into me. It's several minutes before I manage to extricate myself enough to be able to breathe easily.

"You're as beautiful as I remember," gushes Callista, who has always been the more superficial of the pair. "You haven't changed a bit."

"I've missed you," adds Charis, hugging me again with one arm as she raises the other so she can wipe the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I've missed you too," I reply, surprised to find that I don't have to lie.

They only back away when Drusilla approaches, her usual collection of make-up and hair products clutched in her arms.

"Hurry up, Cashmere. The nation is waiting," she snaps, but the corners of her mouth curl up into the merest hint of a smile. When I sit down in front of a mirror that wasn't in my house this time yesterday, she briefly squeezes my shoulder, holding the gaze of my reflection before starting to pin my hair back off my face so she can do my make-up.

I sit there in compliant silence as my prep team work on me. I had thought that seeing them again would be the first of many events which were sure to bring memories of the Games I have spent the past six months trying to fight back come crashing down upon me once more, and I was right, seeing them again does make me remember. However it isn't the nightmares of the arena themselves that I recall but the way these three women tried to help me in the only way they could, the way they wanted me to win, the pride in their excited eyes as they took their places on the stage at my Victory Ceremony. I know then that if I have to do this then I am glad they are here with me. Despite Drusilla's obsession with gold nail varnish.

* * *

I recognise the soft knock on the door that comes a couple of hours later as belonging to my brother, who has been keeping such a low profile that I haven't seen him once since my Capitol entourage arrived. I call for him to come in, half expecting him to wait for me to go to him.

He peers hesitantly around the door so I can only see his head, looking like he is ready to flee instantly. He jerks his head back, telling me that he wants me to come and talk to him, before moving rapidly to vanish again. However, for once in his life he isn't quick enough, and Charis and Callista see him instantly, their eyes lighting up as they run across the room and practically drag him inside.

"Cashmere, is this your brother?" asks Callista as she circles around a slightly startled-looking Gloss. "You didn't tell me he was so good looking."

"He isn't," I reply flatly. "He's my brother."

Gloss rolls his eyes at me, giving me every impression that he's about to bolt towards the door and make a bid for freedom. I take pity on him and cross the room to stand directly opposite him, separating him from my suddenly predatory prep team. Charis laughs good-naturedly. Callista pouts and looks disappointed.

"Falco's here," he says.

"I know-"

"He just got here," Gloss continues pointedly.

"That's good," I reply, catching on immediately. "He can come in if he wants, but I think we've got to go now so I might as well go to him."

He takes my hand and pulls me from the room, dragging me into the dining room and pushing the door firmly closed, ignoring the outraged gasps of the Capitol people we barge past.

"I always seem to be saying goodbye to you," he says. "You've only been back for a few months and they're here to take you away again."

"I'll be back before you know it," I tell him, trying to stay optimistic for his sake. "There's no arena this time, Gloss."

"Cash, you're still having nightmares," he replies flatly. "You go to bed with the light on and the curtains open and you still wake up screaming. Don't lie to me and tell me you're OK with going on this tour because I won't believe you."

"I've never lied to you," I say eventually. "But saying I don't want to go isn't going to make them all go back to the Capitol without me, is it?"

He shakes his head in reluctant acceptance of what we both know is the truth. "I wish I could come with you. I don't like to think of you having to cope with it all on your own."

"I'm not on my own. Falco's with me. I'm flattered you'd do that for me though," I continue, trying to make a joke of a situation that isn't at all funny. "The Capitol wouldn't be able to get enough of you. You'd hate every second of it."

"I'd do it for you though, Cashy," he replies teasingly, pulling me backwards onto the sofa so I sit curled up against him just like I did after the reaping before I left District One on the tribute train.

"I know," I say, not knowing what else to say. I'm still selfish enough that I would take him with me if I could. He hugs me tightly and we sit there for several minutes before I finally break the silence. "Are you coming to the station with me?"

I feel rather than see him shake his head. "I think it's best if I stay here. I'd rather not be on the front cover of any more newspapers," he says, referring to how a picture of our reunion at the train station on the day I returned home after the Games had appeared in every newspaper in Panem.

There is a knock at the door and Gloss and I look at each other. I know before I hear Falco's words that the time has come for me to leave. It really does feel like reaping day all over again.

"It's only a couple of weeks. I'll be back before you know it. I'm relying on you to guard the house so Father and Satin don't try to take over."

He laughs at that, hugging me tightly once more after we both rise to our feet. "I love you."

"I love you," I reply, pulling away from him and darting towards the door before I either change my mind or ruin Drusilla and Felix's hard work by crying.

* * *

A couple of hours later, I am back on the tribute train, sitting in the dining room on the same chair I found when I was on my way to the Capitol. This time around, the train is speeding in the opposite direction. We are heading towards District Twelve, which is the traditional place where the Victory Tour begins, the district that has only ever caused that tradition to be broken twice before.

The tour always ends in the victor's own district, and nowhere has fewer victors than District Twelve. The small part of me that can think about something other than how unbearable the tour is going to be for all concerned is curious to see if the coal district is truly as bad as people say. Tales are told of children starving to death on the streets and people being blown up in the mines, and even though I find myself wishing they are just tales and nothing more, I know deep down that they will prove to be an accurate picture of reality. Falco has told me enough about the other districts to make me believe that District One is paradise in comparison to many of the rest.

It will take less than a day to get to District Twelve. We will be there by the morning, and I can't help wondering if they are preparing for our arrival right now. I have no idea what to expect but my mind has already painted a picture of a grieving family, a family who mourn the loss of a boy I killed instinctively without even thinking. He charged at me as the gong sounded to start the Games and I lashed out. He died almost instantly, most likely leaving behind a family who will now have to go through the torment of watching his killer being paraded around the country like some kind of heroine.

It is true that I am dreading District Twelve, just like I am dreading all of the other districts, but that doesn't mean I can stop myself from thinking that I am days away from the worst. There are some districts I can't even bear to think of. District Seven will be the first of those, for surely I will see Davena's family, the family she loved with such fierce devotion that even the Capitol stopped to listen when she spoke of them.

Then there will be District Four. That same Capitol is waiting for me to come face to face with the boy who killed Sapphire. It's my own fault for talking of her in my Victor's Interview. I didn't think of it at the time, but the reporters did. They have been waiting to see me introduced to Finnick Odair ever since.

The day we arrive in the fishing district will be only the beginning, for Three and Two follow Four, and that means seeing the relatives of the little girl who haunts my dreams more than any other tribute who was in the arena, even Corvinus. Elsah was thirteen, she was innocent, and every time I go to sleep I hear her screams as she begged me for her life.

I can't bear to think of District Two, of the birthplace of my closest ally, the man who saved my life. The people there are sure to hate me, just like they all will. That's the thing about the Victory Tour; it's nothing more than an extension of the Games, another opportunity for the Capitol to remind the districts exactly who is in control. They will hate me, but they can't show it. I will hate the ceremonies, but I won't be allowed to show it. The whole thing is an endless performance, and the Capitol will never let the show stop.

* * *

I am still sitting in exactly the same position hours later. A couple of Avoxes came into the cabin to set the table for dinner, but once I nodded to indicate they could continue, they ignored me totally, did their job and swiftly left. I have seen nobody else since, and as I twist and turn the sapphire pendant that was my district token backwards and forwards, I can't decide if I welcome the solitude or not. When I'm sitting here alone, I almost think that I could do with a distraction from my increasingly morbid and depressed thoughts, but the idea of getting up and finding someone to talk to fills me with horror and makes me snuggle even deeper into my chair.

I only look up when I hear the cabin door slide open, and my ridiculous heart skips a beat when I see Falco, just like it always does. He slowly walks over and stops before my chair to look down at me. I can't help smiling at the thought that we have been in this position before.

"Cashmere de Montfort," he says, and I can tell he is struggling to suppress a smile because he is recalling exactly the same memory.

I sit up slightly. "Can I help you?" I retort, pleased with myself when I manage to keep my voice calm and slightly arrogant, just like it was when we first met on my journey to the Capitol.

Instead of continuing to question me about my motives for volunteering for the Games, this time he leans down and drags me to my feet before sitting down on my chair and pulling me back onto his lap, kissing me in a way he probably shouldn't considering where we are. When he eventually lets me go, I stare up at him, suddenly lost for words.

"And what would you have done if I'd done that the first time we were here?" he asks, laughing at my reaction. "Because I wanted to, even then."

"It's just as well you didn't, you know," I tease. "Career Tributes are dangerous creatures. I could have hurt you, and I'd have regretted it terribly later."

"I think I could have dealt with you, _Miss de Montfort_, just like I can now," he replies, pulling me tightly against him in a way that miraculously always seems to make my nightmares and memories fade enough so they are bearable.

"I admire the courage behind your misplaced confidence, _Mr Hazelwell_," I retort instantly before abruptly remembering exactly where I'm going and falling silent once more. "This is where you say something that makes me feel better," I continue eventually when the quiet becomes too much.

He smiles and pulls me even tighter against him but he doesn't speak. Just as I think I have finally said something he can think of no reply to, he laughs, the sound making me cling to him even harder simply because there is no humour in it.

"I saw you before the Games," he says. "Did you know that?"

I shake my head. "How could you have?"

"When I agreed to take over from Septimus, I went to District One to see exactly what I was letting myself in for. I'd only ever seen District Two before and I obviously didn't expect any of the other districts to be quite like there."

I want to ask him what he means by that. I want to ask him about the place Corvinus and Dahlia came from, the place that I will be visiting myself in ten days time, but he puts a finger to my lips to silence my questions.

"When I arrived, they drove me to the Justice Building because the Head Peacekeeper was going to introduce me to the mayor. As I got out of the car, I looked across the square and I saw a young woman in a dark-blue coat leaving one of the shops. She called out to someone and followed him down a side street. She was gone in seconds but I didn't forget her, and I recognised her instantly when she was the first onto the stage on reaping day."

"You didn't tell me."

"It didn't seem important, but it does now," he says, his voice so serious that I pull away slightly so I can look up into his eyes. "I wish I could have left you in District One, Cashmere. If I could have spared you this then I would have. You do know that, don't you?"

"Of course I do," I reply just as seriously, "but not even you can stop sixty-six years of tradition, Falco. I'll be fine. The tour will be over before we know it. All I have to do is smile for the cameras and not let them see I'm crying inside. Exactly like always," I finish with a quick smile.

"I hope you're right," he says, pulling me back against him again.

I get the impression he does it so I can't see the sadness in his eyes, but I say nothing and let him. Talking about it won't make it go away, but sitting here in his arms can chase the nightmare from my mind for a short time, and at the moment that is good enough for me.

* * *

We are interrupted some hours later when the door slides open and Felix appears. I smile until I realise he is closely followed by Topaz and Lace, who I have barely seen since the end of the Games despite how we all live in the District One Victor's Village. When I see my former mentors, my smile fades immediately. I stare evenly across at Lace, deliberately not moving, determined not to give her the satisfaction of seeing me jump from Falco's arms like I've been caught doing something I shouldn't. I know we shouldn't flaunt what I suppose can be called our relationship, but she can't prove anything. Besides, who would believe her if she told anyone?

"We'll be there by the morning," Felix tells me as I take my place at the table. I nod in reply but don't speak, so he soon continues. "Do you know what you have to say? Have you remembered it?"

"Yes, I have," I snap back, pretending to be annoyed that he thinks he can treat me like a child. As ever, I can tell by his raised eyebrows that he can see straight through me. "Although I think Gloss knows my lines better than I do," I continue, the harshness gone from my voice.

He laughs. "Falco can recite them too," he replies. "I've heard him."

"As long as he remembers his own lines and isn't too…distracted," interrupts Lace.

"I might be distracted by your obnoxiousness, Lace, but I think that's all that will be a problem," says Falco smoothly in response. Sensibly, my former mentor doesn't speak after that.

Our dinner continues in silence. Topaz tries to talk about the tour, but for once even he picks up on the atmosphere in the room and remains quiet after only one attempt to make conversation. After the Avoxes have brought us three courses I decide that I can't take anymore of this. Even solitude and the company of my nightmares has got to be preferable to this.

"I'm tired now," I say as I rise to my feet. "I'm going to bed."

I walk out of the room before anyone can say anything, not thinking that anyone would want to stop me but not wanting to give them an opportunity.

* * *

Less than an hour later I was sitting up in bed screaming, trying desperately to escape the arena that still exists in my mind if not in reality. Once I had calmed down enough to think rationally, for the first time ever, when Falco came to me I tried to send him away. Lace already knows her entirely more sordid version of the truth about us and so him sleeping in my room will only make matters worse however innocent the reason behind it is. Even if by some miracle my former mentor and I were able to have a civilised conversation, I could tell her the truth and she would never believe it.

The fact that Felix finds me curled up in my almost-lover's arms for the second time in as many days when he arrives in the morning to get me ready for our arrival in District Twelve shows exactly how unsuccessful my efforts were. From what I remember of last night, I managed to speak about a sentence in protest against Falco's presence, which was swiftly dismissed and ignored, and then I gave up, allowing myself to take the easier and altogether more favourable option of not having to be alone.

Once again, Felix takes my hand and pulls me to my feet, attempting to smooth the many creases from my nightdress before quickly giving up and leading me from the room without saying a word. He's like Gloss in his apparent acceptance of Falco and I, and I am as grateful as ever for his calm and non-judgemental presence.

After a couple of hours that felt like seconds, I find myself standing in front of the exit door as the tribute train pulls into the District Twelve station. I can see my reflection in the tinted glass that allows neither people waiting on the platform to see in nor people in the train to see out, and I am no longer surprised that the serene-looking and immaculately dressed woman staring back at me in no way reflects the turmoil I am feeling inside.

I look down at the suit that Felix has dressed me in and brush an imaginary speck of dirt from my skirt. It's black, coal black for the coal district, I think suddenly, but the lining of the jacket and the underskirt that shows because it's a few inches longer than the actual skirt are a fine silver silk. There are tiny little stones that sparkle on the jacket's collar. Felix slaps my hand away and actually growls at me when I pick at them in my nervousness. I suppose he would do. These outfits are the difference between success and failure for him, and because of that, I resort to twisting my hands awkwardly in front of me, resisting the temptation to return my attention to my collar.

I look first to my one side and then to the other as Falco takes my left hand and Felix my right, squeezing tightly but not quite tightly enough to stop me shaking. I can see Lace's scowl but I ignore her as she doesn't matter. All I can think is that in a couple of minutes I will be facing the families of two of the tributes who left this place six months ago and will never return home.

The train comes to a halt and I can already hear the clamouring of the people on the other side. The security lock on the door clicks and Falco and Felix release me a second before it is flung open. I am blinded by camera flashes instantly. And so it begins.

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed 'Beauty' and said that I should write this - if you hadn't then I wouldn't have got this far :) Let me know what you think or even just that you're reading. Please...**

**Thanks to be-nice-to-nerds for being my second opinion on virtually every chapter (don't go anywhere because I'll need you more than ever in a few chapters time ;))**


	2. Chapter 2

**On to the tour properly then... I'm amazed I managed to limit myself to two chapters when half of my characters could easily have their own stories ;)**

**As ever, I want to thank everyone who read and reviewed - to get such good responses to a first and very much introductory chapter really made me smile :) Let me know what you think of this one, even the dreaded Finnick-scene (which I almost cut out)...**

Chapter Two

Despite what I'm sure a lot of people think, I'm not stupid. I always knew the Victory Tour would bring every nightmare I've ever had about what happened in the arena flooding back to the surface so it would be as if I hadn't spent the past six months trying to fight the memories away. However nothing could have prepared me for the reality.

When I was in the arena, I didn't look at the boy tribute from District Twelve until his picture was projected onto the wall after the bloodbath that was the first day of the Games, and even then, I didn't really see him. I killed that boy without even thinking. I slashed my sword across his throat when he charged towards me at the Cornucopia because I could, because I didn't want to die, and because he was defenceless and I was not. Then when it was all over, they put me and his grieving parents on a stage together and expected us all to act like we had something to celebrate. The only people who were celebrating that day were in the Capitol, I can say that for certain.

When I saw his parents, I also saw him, and the sight of his frail-looking mother being supported by his father, both of them covered in coal dust, somehow made me recall his features as clearly as if he was standing there next to me on the stage. I could hear the cannons firing, see the walls of the arena closing in on me, feel my sword sliding so easily into the tributes I killed, and nothing has changed since. Everywhere I look, I see them, and though I've barely slept since the tour began, when I do sleep they haunt my nightmares in a way they haven't done for months. Every night I wake up screaming. Falco doesn't even bother trying to sleep anywhere but by my side now. He is the only one who can drive my terror away.

It was the same in every district after that. Eleven, Ten, Nine and Eight. The surroundings change, the faces change, but the expressions etched onto those faces are always the same. Grief, anger and defeat, I have seen them all, and that is just when I look into the mirror at my own reflection.

That's what I'm doing now. I'm sitting in my cabin on the train, staring into the mirror, trying to distract myself with Felix's latest creation so that I don't have to think about what is about to happen. The red jacket and skirt suit me, I know they do. I look good. I look like the Cashmere I was before the Games, but that doesn't matter when all I can think about is how I'm about to arrive in District Seven. This is the first real test, one of the places I have been dreading more than the others ever since the first time I allowed myself to think about the tour. Seven, Four, Three and Two. It's a countdown with a lot of numbers missing, but it's the countdown I'm reciting to myself as a way to get through this. Every one of those districts I survive without losing my mind, every time I can take one out of the countdown, I am a step closer to getting back home.

"Cashmere," calls Falco softly as he knocks on the door.

"You can come in," I reply, turning to face him as he walks in and closes the door firmly behind him.

"We're here," he says. "But I can tell by your face that you know that already."

I nod. "I didn't think it would be this bad. I thought I was getting better but now it's all come back again."

He crosses the room and pulls me into his arms. "It will do. This whole…_situation_ isn't exactly helping," he whispers, making me pull away slightly and press my finger firmly against his lips.

It isn't the first time he's expressed the dislike and disgust he feels for the whole concept of the Victory Tour, but I still get nervous when he voices thoughts that would be considered rebellious by anyone who isn't in a position of power like he is. Especially when he says such things where we are now. Whispering to me in the middle of the night when we're back in District One is one thing, but anyone could hear when we are on this train. I know he's careful about such matters, but the thought of someone listening in on our conversation terrifies me.

He smiles against my finger before gently pulling my hand away. "You know what I think so I won't say any more. It'll be over before you know it and I won't leave you. Everyone with any sense will know that you did what you did because you had no choice."

"Grief makes people senseless, Falco," I reply quietly. "And maybe it's right that it should. I don't deserve their understanding or sympathy, especially not here."

"You're a good person," he says. "Whatever you did in that arena. I love you, Cashmere, don't forget that."

"I love you," I reply. "Even though I shouldn't."

I can tell he's about to respond to that, but he doesn't get the chance because the train starts to slow and Felix strides into the room, telling me we've arrived and that we have to be ready to go.

* * *

As soon as the train stops, the doors are flung open from the outside and we are directed towards three massive black cars that have equally huge tinted windows. The people who had been waiting for us show my prep team and Felix into one, Falco, Lace and Topaz into another, and then try to make me go in the one at the front on my own.

My immediate reaction is to shy away. I don't do enclosed spaces anymore and can only just about cope with the train. The officials don't seem to know how to react, and exchange nervous-looking glances without moving.

"Miss de Montfort, please," tries one, sounding slightly desperate. I suppose he would do. If he is the one in charge of getting me to the ceremony on time and I'm late, then I wouldn't want to be in his shoes.

He smiles grimly, and I see a sadness in his expression that tells me he's surprised the other two are shocked I have reacted like this. There is something I like about the old man, who is clearly District Seven rather than Capitol, and I find I don't want to get him into trouble almost as much as I don't want to get into that car.

"Can we walk?" I ask, trying to think of an alternative, feeling grateful that I can at least think. Maybe that means I'm getting better.

"I'm sorry," he replies, sounding like he genuinely means it, "but you can't. It's too far, and the security measures in the district…it wouldn't be possible."

I hear a door open and look up to see Falco standing by the front car. He beckons to me before climbing in himself, ignoring the horrified looks on the faces of the other two, obviously Capitol officials in response to what must be a massive breach of protocol. I laugh to myself as I realise I have long since lost count of the number of times he has done such a thing and steadily walk over to him.

"Perhaps you could join us," he suggests to the old man who is anxiously hovering by my side as if he expects me to collapse at any second. "I've never been to District Seven and I think you'd be just the person to tell me more."

The man looks so pleased to be asked that he nods and almost runs towards the car, getting in and sitting opposite Falco and I. He then proceeds to tell us all about the district and it's people and industry, taking my mind off the enclosed space I'm temporarily trapped in, which was no doubt Falco's intention. The man talks with such pride in his voice, and though he is very careful not to mention the Capitol, his silence on the matter speaks volumes. I watch him intently, realising that he is so old that he probably remembers a time when the Capitol didn't have absolute power, or at least a time before the Hunger Games. I am disappointed when the car comes to a halt and the door is opened for us. I loved hearing the love he feels for his home in his voice, and for a brief time, his words made me forget the reason I am here.

* * *

That moment of relief doesn't last for long though. As soon as I leave the car, I am propelled down a narrow pathway and then up the steps that lead straight onto the stage in the main square. In some districts the crowd have been noisy and in others they have been quiet, but District Seven is unlike any of them. In District Seven they are totally silent. I quickly find myself staring at the horizon so I don't have to look at them.

It gets worse when I finally have to avert my gaze and focus on my immediate surroundings. The stage in District Seven is as different to the others I've seen as the crowd, and not for the better. The families of the fallen tributes are on a level with me and barely a few short metres away. I can identify Davena's family instantly, for they all bear a striking resemblance to the girl whose face will be etched into my mind forever.

Her brothers and sisters, who seem to range in age from being little younger than she was to no more than five or six, are openly crying. Her parents just look numb, although their eyes are as red as those of their surviving children, her father even more than her mother. I can't help but wonder if their eyes are dry now because they know what the Capitol will do to them if they turn the grief they are not allowed to feel into an open and public emotion.

Then the crowd collectively gasps in horror as a tiny figure I hadn't noticed before darts across the stage to stand in front of me, evading the capture of both her father and her eldest brother, whose legs she'd been hiding behind. She stares up at me with Davena's green eyes, and for a moment time seems to stop as nobody dares move. I stare down at the child who can only be Abelia, Davena's youngest sibling, as if I am frozen in time.

"Where's Davi?" she asks, her tiny, high-pitched voice clearly not quite able to manage her big sister's whole name.

"I… I…"

Then her father reaches out and grabs her, pulling her sharply away and holding her protectively against him as if he thinks I'm going to try and kill another of his children. The little girl starts to cry.

"Daddy, where is she? I want Davi."

"I told you before, Abi. Davena's gone somewhere far away and she can't come back," he answers, silent tears rolling down his face. They look odd on a man so tall and strong.

"I'm sorry," I breathe, suddenly conscious of how the whole crowd is watching and waiting for something to happen.

"Nowhere near as sorry as I am," replies Davena's father just as quietly.

The little girl reaches out to me, her tiny fingers grasping at air because she's too far away.

"Is she with you?" she asks, looking behind me as if she expects her sister to suddenly appear.

Her father turns back and returns to the edge of the stage and the rest of his family. He transfers his youngest daughter to her weeping mother's arms and faces me defiantly.

I want to look away, but for some reason I can't. I can feel tears forming in my own eyes as I abruptly recall Davena's last moments as clearly as if she had died yesterday. He had to watch them too. This man had to watch his daughter die on his television screen, exactly like I had to watch Finnick Odair kill Sapphire. I am his Finnick Odair, and I am ashamed.

* * *

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur, and I barely see the plaque I am presented with. I recite my speech robotically, and the next thing I know, Falco is taking my arm and leading me off the stage back into the Justice Building.

"She needs to rest," he says, and I notice he is talking to the old official who had accompanied us here from the train station.

The man looks around briefly and then beckons us forwards. "This way. If you go now then you'll be gone before the mayor arrives," he says conspiratorially. I like this man more every second.

He leads us out of the building and down a tree lined path that runs along the side. The bright light of the sun brings me back to myself slightly, and my grip on Falco's arm slackens a little for the first time since the ceremony finished. The building we are directed to appears to be made entirely of wood, which shouldn't surprise me considering where we are, but is still like nothing I've seen before.

"That's one of the worst ones over with," says Falco as he pushes me down onto a huge padded armchair, staring at me the whole time. I know I must have looked shaky back there because it isn't his usual appraising look that always makes me shiver, it is a look full of anxiety and concern.

"I deserve this, Falco. I killed Davena, just like I killed that boy from Twelve. Just like I killed Elsah. And Dahlia."

"Self-preservation is one of the most basic of all human instincts, Cashmere. You might have wielded the sword but you aren't the one to blame. The Hunger Games is to blame, not you."

"I had a choice. Kill or be killed. I chose to kill so I am to blame."

He reaches down and grasps the collar of my jacket so tightly that I think he's going to lift me from the chair. I stare directly at him, my eyes only inches from his.

"Show me a person who says they would act differently in that situation and in the vast majority of cases you will be showing me a liar," he says firmly. "You will never forget what happened but I won't let you punish yourself forever."

"Felix tells me there was some trouble here just before we arrived," I prompt, trying to pull myself together and move on from my latest outburst of insanity by changing the subject.

Falco lets me go with a sigh and sits on the seat next to mine. "Davena won the hearts of this district's people in a way one of their tributes hasn't done for many years. She got very close to winning. What happened wasn't about you personally."

"Felix said people were killed."

"A couple of them took it so far that they couldn't be ignored. It isn't right but it's reality. For now anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing," he replies, smiling and taking my freezing cold hand in his much warmer one. "You should rest. I have to speak to the Head Peacekeeper so there are no more reprisals for what happened this morning. I'll be back later."

I let him go, knowing that he is one of the few people who can make what I'm sure is a bad situation into a slightly better one, and then I try to go to sleep. At least if I sleep then time will pass more quickly than if I am sitting watching the clock. I hope Falco's back soon. I hate it when he leaves me.

* * *

My brief visits to District Six and then to District Five passed by in a blur. I remember very little of Six other than the look of grief on the face of the girl tribute's mother. The time I saw her was about the time I remembered how close that diminutive, feeble-looking girl came to winning. She was the twenty-first death of the Games. The Capitol hadn't expected her to live through the bloodbath on the first day, so her continued survival against all odds would have given her family hope. Then it had been crushed in no uncertain terms when Dahlia had found the girl's latest hiding place, and that total loss of hope is what I saw so clearly on the face of the woman dressed all in black as she stood at the foot of the stage.

The tall, cold and clinical buildings that surround the District Five main square are what stuck most in my mind after my visit there, but I didn't have time to dwell on that for long. It was soon time for the next nightmare in my own personal list to become reality. District Four.

* * *

The fishing district is unlike anywhere I have seen before or even imagined. I have never seen the sea before, and it stretches out to what seems an infinite distance as I stand outside the Town Hall, waiting to go inside for yet another evening of torture.

Even now, I can see many small fishing boats in the bay. When I first saw them, I wondered why the people of this district didn't try to win their freedom by sailing out one day and not turning back. That was until I saw the white-uniformed Peacekeepers patrolling the beach. I don't know how they would stop an escape attempt but their presence tells me that they would.

This afternoon's ceremony followed the same formula as the eight I have attended previously. The mayor says what he or she has to say and I recite my speech. The people gathered around the stage stare up at me with a veiled hatred that is concealed with varying degrees of success depending on which district I'm in. Then I am presented with some kind of plaque to commemorate my victory, and finally everyone leaves until the evening dinner party, which is when the whole performance begins again.

The District Four ceremony taught me that Marcia had been raised by her grandparents, who looked so poor they were all but dressed in rags. Her grandfather swayed slightly even when he stood still, as if he spent so much time at sea that he was unaccustomed to having dry land beneath his feet. Neither of them cried openly, unlike Octavian's almost larger than life family, most of whom were clinging to each other for support, especially when the mayor spoke very briefly of the young boy tribute.

He had seven siblings, I could see that much due to how greatly the group gathered by the stage resembled both each other and their brother who will never return home again. As the mayor gave his speech, I could hear the whispered conversation of two of the officials who were hovering behind me. The youngest of Octavian's elder brothers had turned nineteen on reaping day, and as I looked at him, I couldn't help wondering if he would have volunteered to take his brother's place if he'd been able to.

"It's time to go inside," says Falco, interrupting my thoughts and lightly pushing me forwards. "And stop fiddling with your dress," he adds as I push the thin blue strap more firmly onto my shoulder for what feels like the thousandth time.

"The strap keeps falling down," I retort, turning around to scowl at him.

"You can shout at Felix later," he replies amusedly.

"I fully intend to," I tell him immediately with mock seriousness, but then any further comment about my relatively minor wardrobe crisis is lost before it passes my lips as I suddenly find myself face-to-face with the real reason I have been dreading my visit to this district. Finnick Odair.

I can feel my lips curl up almost of their own accord as I snarl involuntarily at the boy who murdered Sapphire. My time in the arena has enabled me to rationalise what he did in my own mind, but that doesn't mean I don't despise him to the point where the mere sight of him makes me tremble with barely suppressed rage. I've never been this close to him before, and I'm shocked by the force of the emotions I feel.

"Whatever you're thinking right now, Butterfly, I don't think it's a wise idea, do you?" breathes Falco as he leans towards me.

"I think it's a wonderful idea," I reply, my hands clenching into tight fists as I glare at the boy who stands only a couple of short metres away.

"This way," he says firmly, pushing me into the massive dining room and then in the opposite direction to Odair.

I spin away from his grip on my arm, which is as forceful as his words, turning my glare away from Sapphire's killer onto him.

"I'm not one of your minions, Falco," I snap. "I have a mind of my own and I can make my own choices."

"Not when they put you at risk," he hisses. "You know better than that."

I look back to where the original and true source of my anger had been standing only to find he has disappeared into the crowd. Falco takes my arm again, more gently this time, and when I look up at him, I see only concern in his eyes. I immediately feel ashamed of myself for reacting the way I did.

"I'm sorry," I tell him softly. "It's just that seeing him standing there…it brings back everything that happened to Sapphire. I know I'm being hypocritical but I hate him for what he did."

"On some level you always will," he replies. "She was your sister and you loved her. He wielded the weapon that ended her life."

I nod, temporarily lost for words, and that is all I have the chance to do before I am swept away by one of the many officials, who tells me that the mayor and the Head Peacekeeper want to meet me before we all sit down to dinner. A big part of me wants to refuse, to say that I met them already at the ceremony that was supposed to be a celebration of my victory, but the rest of me is sensible enough to know that I can't. I follow the woman through the crowd, and any reluctance I feel is carefully hidden behind the mask I have become used to wearing.

* * *

The dinner was as long, drawn out and painful as they always are. The people here have obviously gone to a lot of effort, which is expected of the wealthier districts, but I ate very little and am now starting to feel a bit hungry. I try to tell myself that I didn't eat because I don't like seafood, which to be honest, I don't, but deep inside I know the real reason was because it felt like the only voice I could hear was Finnick Odair's, that the only person in the room was Finnick Odair. The only thing I could think of was that I am being forced to share a meal with my sister's murderer.

I had thought that my purgatory would all be over for the day once the final course had been served, and I had immediately looked for Falco, who had unfortunately been seated at the other end of the massive table, as soon as the last fork had been lowered. However the guests then proceeded to leave the table and congregate in the adjacent room, which is easily as big as the Banquet Hall, and my heart sank when yet more food and drink was served.

I have spent my time since then trying to find a face I recognise, a familiar person who I can rely on, while also trying to extricate myself from the seemingly infinite number of guests who unfortunately appear to be drawn to me like magnets. At this stage, even Lace would do. At least I can trust her to be consistently vile to me. At least with her I know where I am.

I wish I could say the same about the man who stands next to me now. He's Capitol, that much is obvious, but from what he has said, he lives here and has done for some time. That's true of a lot of the people in power here. I have yet to see another district with as many citizens of the big city who live here on a permanent basis, except perhaps District Five. Even District Eleven seems to be largely controlled by district people who have either been given power by the Capitol that has gone to their heads or been threatened until they do as they're told.

The man doesn't seem to want to talk about himself though, at least not in any respect other than to tell me in no uncertain terms exactly how much control he has over this place. His cruel words make me want to introduce him to Falco, who I'm sure would crush him like he would a particularly stupid poisonous insect in a matter of seconds. However what the man really wants to talk about seems to be me.

At first he congratulated me on my victory, which is something I have got used to over time even though I still hate it. I have developed a formula of standard responses to questions and statements and it hasn't let me down so far. But then he insisted on telling me how beautiful I am, and even now we are doing the same dance we've been doing since he first started talking to me. He takes a step towards me and I take a step back, over and over again because my ingrained manners don't quite allow me to spin on my heel and walk away.

"Why don't you try this on," he says, reaching into his pocket and taking out a necklace made entirely of diamonds that looks like it's probably worth more than the majority of the lesser districts put together. "It would suit you better than that awful plain one you have on now."

I instinctively lift my hand to cover my precious sapphire pendant, which I haven't removed since Falco returned it to me after my liberation from the basement level of the Training Centre after the Games.

"This is sacred to me," I reply, so distracted that I don't immediately step back when he steps forwards. "I don't want a replacement, not even one as fine as that."

"Then keep it anyway," he says, dropping the diamond necklace into my hand. "But I would very much like to see you wear it, just once. Perhaps somewhere a little quieter."

He reaches forwards and firmly grasps my elbow, pulling me towards the door. I jerk away from him instinctively and a second later I understand his intention all too clearly.

"I don't think that's going to happen," I tell him, so shocked that my voice doesn't sound anywhere near as firm as I want it to.

"Nobody would know, Cashmere."

"I would know, and I would die before I let you so much as breathe on me," I snarl, finding my nerve again as I drop the necklace on the table and leave the room as quickly as I can without drawing attention to myself.

I escape into the entrance hall, which suddenly doesn't seem anything like far enough, before turning back to look for Falco. I know I shouldn't rely on him like I do, but since the Games, when I'm not at home in District One, I only feel safe when he is with me. I scan the room again and again before I find him, and my heart sinks when I do. He's standing there deeply in conversation with the Head Peacekeeper, the mayor and at least three other Capitol officials whose roles I couldn't even guess. He's not going anywhere.

I reluctantly turn my attention onto my more immediate surroundings, and my eyes are drawn to the massive and elaborate staircase that takes up half of the room. With one final look behind me, I lift the skirt of my dress so I don't trip over and run up the first flight of stairs as quickly as my feet will carry me, hopefully before anyone notices. Even doing something like that reminds me of the arena, and when I reach the top, I realise that I was subconsciously listening for the creaking sound that would tell me the staircase was about to crumble beneath me at any second.

"Stop being stupid, Cashmere," I tell myself quietly but furiously before deciding that I really am going mad if I'm talking to myself and falling silent immediately.

Brushing my angry tears from my eyes, I rush through the huge double doors that have been left wide open, fastened tightly back against the walls and surrounded by thin curtains that billow in the wind. I take a deep breath, relieved to breathe the fresh, salty air even though it feels cold, especially on my eyes and cheeks as the same wind that blows the curtains blows strongly onto my tears.

I don't know how long I stand there, staring into the darkness as I try to collect my thoughts. That man, who was at least as old as my father, is not the first person to have had such intentions towards me. People have acted that way back home, before the Games at least, but my family's status always meant that they knew they had to be a whole lot more subtle about it than the man from the Capitol who I probably would have run through if I'd still had the sword I used to train with. Part of me wishes I had.

I keep taking deep breaths, mentally telling myself that I am not used to such blatancy and that is why I'm feeling this strange combination of disgust, fear and anger. If I tell myself that then I won't think about the truth, which is that I am so rattled because that man looked at me like he truly thought I would go along with his plan. I won't think about how this place has taught me what I should have known all along, which is that my father's name means nothing to many a man from the Capitol, that even though I am a Hunger Games victor, to a lot of those who have watched me through their television screens, I am still just another district girl who has the dubious fortune of being beautiful.

* * *

The footsteps I hear approaching are far too quiet to be Falco's. I know that because I also know that he has never had the need to creep anywhere and so has never developed the skill. However I want it to be him so much that I turn around anyway in the vain hope that my ears are deceiving me, that the one person in this place who I truly want to see has suddenly learned to travel virtually silently.

That is also why I am horrified to see Finnick Odair staring back at me from the other side of the balcony. We keep staring at each other for several minutes, neither willing to give in and be the first one to drop their gaze, and that gives me the opportunity to properly look at him for the first time.

He has a stronger build than a lot of fifteen year olds, and he's certainly bigger than Gloss was at his age, but when I look closely at him, I can see how young he really is. Far too young for the Capitol people to be creeping all over him like they've been doing all night, though if he objects to that then he does a very good job of hiding it. Every time I've seen him, he's been smiling handsomely for someone, or looking into the eyes of someone else as they grip his arm slightly too tightly for it to be considered respectable. He's either everything I imagine him to be or he's a better actor than even I could ever be.

"Go away," I snarl eventually, breaking what feels like an endless silence. "Before I do something I will never regret."

"This is my district and my hiding place," he replies in a voice deeper than the one I was expecting.

"I'm borrowing it," I snap back, mentally cursing myself at how immature I sound before the words even leave my mouth.

"I didn't mean to kill your sister. …or I did, but only because I had to."

"Don't talk about her. Don't you dare."

He stands there staring at me then, his green eyes bright even on the balcony, where the only light is what comes out from the landing.

"People we love die in the Games, that's the way it is," he says eventually, shrugging his shoulders and scuffing a polished black shoe on the floor.

"But you're the reason I don't have _my_ sister anymore," I snap immediately, my rage blinding me to everything but him and what he did just over a year and a half ago. "That means I'm going to kill you."

I stride across the balcony, choosing not to care or notice that I have no weapon, have done no training since the arena, and that even I can tell I'm being irrational. Odair doesn't move, not even when I stop less than a metre away from him. For some reason I suddenly remember how he was like that when he was a tribute in the Games. He was such a good actor that he fooled even Sapphire for a while, and that wasn't an easy task.

"On a balcony in the middle of your Victory Tour?" he replies mockingly, stepping forward so his face is inches from mine. "You won't."

"I didn't say I'm going to kill you _now_, did I?" I say, deliberately imitating his mocking tone. "I just said that I would."

He laughs. "But we don't have to be enemies, Cashmere," he purrs, speaking with far more self-assurance than any fifteen-year-old should have.

I step back and laugh, realising that he's probably been practicing that performance since the day he became a victor. "Drop the act, boy. It won't work on me. Save it for your many Capitolian admirers."

"Like you do for yours?" he retorts with a smug smile that abruptly makes him look like the fifteen year old boy he is again. "You're going to have to do better than you did back then or they'll eat you alive."

"I don't need lessons from you."

"Suit yourself," he says, shrugging his shoulders once more. He takes his hands out of his pockets and I can't stop staring down at his right one, my mind somehow picturing it grasped around the trident he killed Sapphire with.

"Fine," he continues, "but I'm not looking forward to turning sixteen and you're already there."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Mags says they have to stay away from me until I'm sixteen. Then they don't."

I nod slightly, deciding that what he says explains a lot about the way that man in the hall was looking at me. I shiver, wishing more than ever that I could get on the train and go home. I push away from the railing that surrounds the balcony and glare at Odair once again.

"I'll always hate you."

"I know," he replies, and for a brief second I see the hollow, empty look I know I have in my own eyes when I think of my arena reflected back at me.

I force myself to walk steadily onto the landing and back down the stairs. I only pause for long enough to peer into the massive room that's still full of guests to see that Falco is just finishing his conversation before I stride across to stand a short distance from him. He sees me instantly and comes over straight away.

"Falco, I want to leave now. Can I leave? I don't feel well."

His eyes are full of concern as he takes my arm and leads me from the room, making my excuses for me so I don't have to speak.

"It's been a long day and you've been here long enough," he says as soon as we leave the building and head out into the darkness. "Nobody will comment. What's wrong? And I mean what's really wrong."

"I've had enough, that's all."

He gives me that look which tells me he isn't at all convinced, but he says nothing as he guides me into a car that takes us back to the station. I can tell that he wants to question me further even though he doesn't speak.

I follow him across the platform and onto the train, relieved to see that for the first time since the tour began, we seem to have evaded detection by the usually omnipresent reporters. It makes a nice change to be apparently unobserved, and by the time we get to the dining room, I finally start to relax slightly. That is until I see the television screen.

I have never understood why there is a television screen in the dining room when there is an entire room next door that contains little except the biggest television I have ever seen. Now more than ever, I want nothing more than to rip it from the wall and throw it from the window.

I stride across the room and slam my hand against the concealed panel on the side of the screen, hitting about five different buttons at the same time and sighing with relief when the picture vanishes. The programme had been showing replays of people arriving for tonight's banquet, alternating between myself and Finnick Odair in a way that told me all too clearly that the commentator had been talking of us even though I couldn't hear their words.

"Don't hurt the defenceless technology, Butterfly, it's very expensive," says Falco, casually interrupting my angry thoughts as he sits down on the sofa.

"But that's what I do," I reply bitterly. "I hurt defenceless things, that's why I'm here."

"Come here," he snaps imperiously, shocking me into obedience.

His expression softens then, and he pulls me down onto the sofa beside him. "I didn't mean it like that," he whispers. "And what you said isn't true even though I know you think it is."

"Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I refused to play the game anymore," I say eventually, "if I just said 'no, I won't carry on'."

"Don't," he replies. "I'm not saying that I don't think that sometimes as well because I know you wouldn't believe me if I did, but you mustn't think it. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."

"And it would, wouldn't it? They wouldn't simply let me refuse."

"I don't think you need me to answer that," he replies gently but firmly, sighing deeply but saying nothing further when I put one of the cushions across his lap and shuffle around so I can rest my head on it.

When I wake up, I am still in the dining room on the sofa, and I smile when I realise Falco is still there too, the fingers of his right hand entwined loosely in my hair as he sleeps. The train rocks gently, telling me we are already on our way towards District Three. Two districts and the Capitol left. That's what I have to keep telling myself. Two districts and the Capitol and then I can go home.


	3. Chapter 3

_And so the Victory Tour continues in the district I love to write more than any other..._

_But first, I wanted to respond to a comment that's been made in a number of the reviews people have very kindly left me, and that is that they are surprised Cashmere has remained ignorant of her fate when so much of what is said to her screams the truth. The way I see it from reading Mockingjay, it is a shock to a lot of people when Finnick reveals what Snow was doing to some of the victors, and that means that hardly anyone would know about it. Cashmere would be used to people treating her similarly to how that man in District Four did and would think that Finnick merely meant she would have to put up with...how shall I put it...a greater level of persistence from Capitol people who view her in that way. It wouldn't even enter her head that she could ever be used in the way she eventually is and Finnick wouldn't correct her because at this point, he's only fifteen so I believe he wouldn't know the whole truth either. _

_Anyway, that's just my theory. I'll get on with the story now. Thanks to be-nice-to-nerds for reading this (and every other) chapter for me - credit for the creation of 'Marchessa', who appears at the end of this one, goes to her :)_

Chapter Three

Before I know it, the train is pulling into the District Two station. I feel it slow down but I don't move. I've barely moved at all since we left District Three last night. All I've been able to think about is Elsah's family, about what her father said to me before the Peacekeepers escorted him away to Panem knows where.

He had been waiting outside the Justice Building all day. I could tell because he was dressed in the same clothes he wore to the ceremony earlier, which were dusty, creased and did little to detract from his tired and grief-filled eyes. He approached me cautiously until I sent Falco away, and then he suddenly looked determined, as if he'd planned what he was going to say and needed to get his words out before either his courage failed him or he missed his chance.

* * *

"_Thank you," says the middle-aged man who looks like he hasn't slept for months. I can do nothing but stare at him in dumbstruck silence. "You killed her quickly so she didn't feel pain. It would have been so different if you hadn't. It would have killed my family to watch her suffer at the hands of _that _girl, so I thank you for sparing her that."_

"_Don't," I stutter. "Please don't. I don't… I don't deserve your thanks. I killed Elsah."_

"_The Capitol killed Elsah."_

"_Don't," I hiss, suddenly frantic rather than pleading. I grasp his upper arms tightly, as if I can force his words back inside him before the surrounding dignitaries and Peacekeepers hear._

"_Why not?" he calls, his voice even louder this time. "The Capitol killed my little girl. I watched as they cheered when she died. Do you really think I care what they do to me now? They say the people of the districts are nothing, but they are wrong. We are everything and it is they who are truly worthless. One day everyone will see it and then my Elsah's death won't have been for nothing!"_

_He is yanked back out of my grasp by the white-uniformed Peacekeepers who suddenly surround us, but he doesn't stop shouting, calling out obscenities and threats against the Capitol even as they drag him away._

"_I forgive you, Cashmere! You are not to blame for this!"_

_I scream as he is bundled into the back of a car that appears from nowhere, skidding to a halt with the doors already half open. My arms are pinned behind my back and I struggle and struggle. It feels just like the arena, like I am trying to open a door that will never unlock._

"_Cashmere, stop," whispers Falco, his lips millimetres from my right ear. "He made his choice. There's nothing you can do."_

* * *

"Cashmere, wake up. We're here. They're waiting. We have to go."

I open my eyes, realising that I must have been remembering yesterday's events in a nightmare even though I didn't know I was asleep. I stare up into Felix's hazel eyes, suddenly reminded of the last time he came to wake me like this. That was the morning I went into the arena, and as I'm about to face District Two, I'm not surprised my subconscious makes the comparison.

"Felix… I don't think I can…"

"You can," he replies firmly, taking my hands and pulling me to my feet. "Don't give up when you've made it this far. This is the last one."

"The last but one," I reply, referring to how my next stop will be the Capitol rather than home.

"The Capitol will be easy compared to this. This is the last district, so let's get it over with."

He extends a hand to me and I take it, unable to stop myself from responding to his optimism even though I don't think the Capitol will be as painless as he thinks it will be. I guess he has a different view of the place because he was born there and has called it home all his life.

"Where-"

"He's gone on ahead to check everything is in place as it should be," he replies, laughing as he pre-empts my question. "District Two will always be District Two."

I nod and let him lead me from the carriage I had taken up residence in ever since he and the prep team finished with me. I stop in front of the main exit doors for the eleventh time in as many days, and seconds later Topaz and Lace appear behind me. Then the performance begins all over again.

* * *

As I keep telling myself, this is the last one and I've been to every district in Panem now, but never before have I seen somewhere like District Two. It's cold here, and I'm glad of the pure white shrug Felix managed to work into my outfit. It covers my shoulders and arms without concealing the intricately embroidered metallic silver dress that substituted at the last minute for the deep purple one I was due to wear. The one that will have to wait until I get home for the ceremony there.

It might sound ridiculous to everyone but me, but I had insisted upon the change and Felix had either understood or was humouring me. I still can't quite decide which. All I know is that Corvinus told me once that Astraea had worn purple on the day he married her. Whether she would have even thought to be offended by it if I wore the same colour today, I can't say, but I know, and the symbolism of altering my outfit out of respect for the man who had been my closest ally means something to me.

The almost impossibly massive white stone pillars that form the entrance to the Justice Building tower over me on either side as I stare straight ahead to focus resolutely on the mountain that the main town lies in the shadow of. Anything to avoid confronting the horror of looking down into the faces that join together to create yet another sea of grief and anger.

The mayor of the district, who is so imposing that he could almost have been one of their tributes himself, gives his speech, and then I say the words the Capitol has told me to say for the eleventh time. They are words I have recited to Falco and Felix so many times that I know them by heart and think that I will continue to do so until the day I die. I have reached the end of my speech before I dare to look down.

I have nothing more to go on other than a brief description that was more focussed on who she is rather than what she looks like, but when I finally look down to the bottom of the wide stone steps that form the front of the stage, I see her instantly, before anyone else registers.

She's shorter than me but probably stronger, and has thick black hair that is currently pinned up in an elaborate style at the base of her neck. When she raises her head to look up at me through the tears she can't quite conceal, the first thing I notice is the vivid scar that runs down the left side of her face. So that's why Corvinus didn't want me to patch up the wound he got during the bloodbath. That's what he meant when he said 'we match'.

I had expected her to hate me, and maybe she does, for whatever she's thinking is a mystery to me. Her brown eyes reveal nothing and her features are fixed, neither frowning nor smiling. If anything, the expression upon her face is expectant, as if she is waiting for me to say something, to find some words of praise for the man who most likely saved my life. I hadn't been going to speak. Falco had warned me not to, saying that it is all too easy to say something I probably shouldn't, and that often victors make things worse rather than better for the families of their allies if they add to their speech. I had taken in his warning and was quite willing to keep my silence. That was until I looked into Astraea Bellafonte-Rossetti's eyes.

"I don't know what to say to you," I say, addressing the crowd as a whole but staring straight at Astraea. "Corvinus Rossetti saved my life in the arena, more than once. I don't know why, and I don't imagine those of you who knew him know why either. You're probably wishing he'd killed me while he had the chance." Her dark eyes meet mine again then, and I make myself keep looking at her. "But he didn't. I don't think there is anything I can say to ease your pain, but I can tell you that I mourn your loss with you, and that I will remember him for as long as I live."

The crowd is silent when I stop talking. It's like nobody, from the poorest-looking quarry workers to the smartly uniformed men and women whose role here I can't begin to guess at, even dares to breathe. Astraea continues to stare up at me, and when I look to the other side of the steps, unable to hold her gaze for any longer, I am shocked to see a small family standing together and crying softly.

I don't understand. Dahlia had no family. That's what Corvinus told me and he had no reason to lie. I mentally record both the observation and the image of the people in uniform, adding them to the list of questions and things I need explaining that I will be sure to interrogate Falco about later.

We've already had ten of our whispered conversations where he explains the detail of the running and function of each district to me, and I suspect that by now, I know more than virtually every other person in Panem who doesn't live in the Capitol. 'Knowledge is power' is a saying I have always held close to my heart, and Falco's new willingness to explain things to me makes me more powerful every day.

I look once more at the grieving family. There is something not quite right about them. I don't know what it is, but it's definitely there. However I don't get the opportunity to think about it for any longer as the rest of the ceremony concludes and the Capitol officials and District Two dignitaries climb the remaining stairs towards me for the final presentation.

The mayor approaches with yet another plaque that has been made to commemorate my victory, but it isn't only him I am looking at. On either side of him walk two others, one who I have met in person and one I have seen only on the television.

I remember both Corvinus and Dahlia talking about the winner of the Thirty-fifth Games with a mixture of respect and not a little fear, and looking at Vikus Cortez now, I can see why. There are numerous men in the crowd who share his height and powerful build, this is District Two, after all, but that isn't what makes me want to step away from him as he stares at me. It's his eyes that do that. There is something about the emotion behind them that terrifies me. Eventually I realise what it is, and that is that I instinctively know someone could walk onto the stage and kill me or anyone else here, and this man wouldn't even blink. Whether it was the Games that did it or it's just the way he is naturally, I don't know, but I know now that it isn't an emotion I am seeing at all, but a total lack of feeling.

My attention is dragged away from the past victor as the mayor pushes the plaque into my arms and the cameras start flashing. When they eventually stop, I turn to see the other person at centre stage. Enobaria. Being at least a head shorter than me, her two companions dwarf her, but she doesn't seem to notice or care. If Vikus is emotionless then she more than compensates for him, and her eyes flash with ever-present anger, exactly like they did when I met her that time at the Training Centre before the Games.

Just as the crowd begins to clap and the familiar chords of the anthem play to signify the end of the ceremony, I glance back down to the relatives on the steps. The family on Dahlia's side have gone, and climbing the stairs towards me from that side of the stage is a man who is also far from emotionless. I have never seen a look of hatred more intense, and every last scrap of it is directed at me.

I don't know if it's his fierce expression that makes him appear so, but as he takes his place beside Enobaria and I see her raise her eyebrows at him, seemingly because of the way he approached the stage, he seems even taller and stronger than Corvinus was. His black eyes bore into me and every muscle in his body is tense, like he wishes he could close the distance between us so he can finish what the Hunger Games couldn't manage to and kill me. Looking at him, I have no doubt that he could do it if he had the opportunity, so I am more grateful than I can say when Falco appears and ushers me back into the Justice Building.

* * *

We have stayed less than a day in every district I have visited so far, going through the ceremonies during the day and evening before returning to the train to travel onwards at night, but this time it is different. A part has gone wrong on the train, or that's what Topaz told me as we made our way out of the Banquet Hall after yet another evening of pretending to be enjoying myself when really all I want to do is curl up in a corner and cry. That means that we have to spend the night here in District Two while they fix it so we can journey to the Capitol in the morning, which is why I end up being shown to a hastily prepared bedroom in the building next door to the mayor's house and am finally left alone to sleep.

However, I can't sleep within these stone walls. The room is too dark despite the bedside lamp, there are too many shadows. It reminds me of being There. It takes a few hours for me to realise this and give up trying, but eventually I find myself sitting up in bed, listening to the silence and waiting for morning to come. The sooner I go to the Capitol, the sooner I can go home.

Then the silence is broken and I can hear a soft scratching at the window. A shadow appears and I reach for the dagger I keep under my pillow, my hand gripping its jewel-encrusted handle so tightly I can feel the sharp edges of the stones digging into my skin. I am halfway out of bed when the window glides open and a figure drops down almost silently to crouch on the ground.

She rises to her feet and pulls her hood back so I can see her face, and we stand there staring at each other in silence for several minutes. Her dark eyes shine in the dim light of the bedside lamp I refuse to switch off, and that same light also reflects off her thick, black hair. She turns her head to the side ever so slightly and the scar that runs down the left side of her face shows up even more clearly than it did this morning as I looked down at her from the stage.

"Cashmere de Montfort," she says eventually, her voice a lot softer than Dahlia's had been but with the same accent.

"Astraea Bellafonte," I reply instantly.

"Bellafonte-Rossetti," she corrects, the fierceness behind her piercing gaze suddenly reminding me she can most likely fight as well as the woman who nearly killed me just over six months ago. Then she shrugs her shoulders, walks over and perches on the edge of the bed, her eyes never leaving mine.

"How did you get in here?"

"Through the window, Stupid," she replies mockingly. "They really do make them without brains in District One, don't they?"

I glare at her, exhaling so sharply that my breath comes out as a hiss. "You know what I meant. How did you get here without the guards catching you? There are Peacekeepers everywhere."

She laughs lightly. "I don't know what it's like where you come from but you can't seriously tell me you call this _security_," she says incredulously. "I've seen bakeries that are harder to break into than this place."

"And you're an expert on breaking into bakeries, are you?" I retort. If she can mock me then I can do the same to her in return.

"You could say that," she replies with a smirk almost as wicked as her husband's had been. "I'm a bit out of practice but I was one of the best."

I smile slightly but don't reply, the thought of my closest ally in the arena making me abruptly lost for words. Then I jerk my head up sharply to look at her again as my next thought forms in my mind.

"Are you here to kill me then, Astraea Bellafonte-Rossetti?"

"Why would I kill you?"

"Because I am alive and he is not."

"You didn't kill him, did you. He protected you. He liked you, and he didn't like many people. I wanted to find out why," she says, and though her voice is even, I can see the sadness in her eyes.

I shrug my shoulders and say nothing. I don't know why Corvinus chose me to be his ally rather than any of the other tributes. I don't think I will ever know why.

"He was a good man," I say after many minutes of silence.

"I don't need you to tell me who he was," she snaps back, suddenly fierce again. "I know who he was, better than anyone else."

"Then you know what I said is true," I reply evenly.

She runs her hand through her hair, pulling it free of her coat. It's longer than I thought it would be, falling down to her waist, a perfectly straight river of black. When she returns her gaze to me, it's steady and unwavering, as if she's still trying to work me out.

"There's something about you that makes people tell you things, Cashmere," she says. "You must have one of those faces."

"Perhaps," I say thoughtfully, remembering how Corvinus had eventually told me about her when we were in the arena. I know I shouldn't pry but my curiosity gets the better of me. There are some things not even the arena can change. "What did he mean when he said he would have given up everything for you?"

She looks around and scoots across the bed to sit beside me, almost as if she expects a reporter and camera crew to leap out at us from behind the curtains. Either that or a squad of Peacekeepers who have been told to arrest her for her words. When she speaks it is in a hushed whisper, her hands raised to cover her mouth, and I have no choice but to lean forwards slightly so I can hear.

"You've seen the mountain fortress," she whispers. "And even staying only a day in this place is long enough to hear the truth about where the Capitol trains the Peacekeepers. Those who are trained for the Games here but don't get to be tributes usually join the Peacekeepers if they survive the reaping trials. They don't have to but it's better than the alternative of a lifetime of poverty and hard labour in the quarries. But Peacekeepers aren't allowed to marry or have a family. Corvinus chose me. We were going to leave the main town and go to one of the villages. I told him there were so many reasons why it wouldn't work, that he'd be better off without me, but you know what he was like." She smiles then, at some memory only she has. "He married me on the evening of the day he asked me. He put me over his shoulder and said he would throw me over the Training Centre wall if I didn't go willingly."

"And then he got chosen for the Games," I finish, certain that the expression on my face is now as grim as the one on hers.

She nods in response. "And then Dahlia Vilani killed him."

"He said she had no family. Why were there people crying for her?"

"Because those people wanted to eat tonight," she replies bitterly. "The pretence must be maintained for the cameras so they pay people to pretend to grieve. I bet the Capitol people were jumping for joy when they found out there would actually be a genuine mourner at their little ceremony today."

"The man who walked onto the stage as the anthem played, he's a past victor, isn't he? I remember his face. I remember the maces in his arena." She nods in confirmation. "I've never seen such hatred as I saw when he looked at me, but it's not like I've met him before. I don't understand."

"Tiberius Silvestri," she replies, a little of the bitterness gone. "Victor of the Sixty-first Games. Dahlia's other mentor. Besides Enobaria," she explains in response to what I'm sure is my obvious confusion.

"You expect me to believe that was the look of a mentor who's disappointed because his tribute failed to win the Games?" I ask her disbelievingly. "You expect me to believe he chose to climb the steps on that side of the stage at random?"

She smirks back at me. "Would you be brave enough to ask him if it's grief that makes him hate you so fiercely? It's been rumoured that he taught her a lot more than just fighting as much as it's been rumoured that they are, or were, both incapable of such human emotions as love and lust, but I know I wouldn't want to be the one to ask the truth, especially not now."

"She implied it in the arena," I reply eventually. "The day we fought the muttations."

"You miss nothing, do you?"

"Side effect of living in District One," I say with a grin, not at all surprised to see the curiosity in her eyes. I knew Corvinus's wife wouldn't be stupid.

"But I don't suppose we'll ever know the truth," she continues. "And I don't suppose it matters anyway. Either way, you're too inquisitive for your own good."

I look at her for a minute. "You're not the first person to say that to me. I saw the ring on the chain around his neck. He told me the truth eventually."

She reaches up to her neck and pulls an identical chain from underneath her coat. It has two tags attached to it, not one. One bears her name and number, and the other bears his. A slightly tarnished silver ring that I have seen before glistens in the dim light of the room on the third finger of the hand she has raised.

"That's why I can't hate you," she says bluntly. "Because he told you the truth."

I don't know what to say to that, so I stare blankly at her, the room totally silent. Eventually she leans forward and takes her coat off, shifting further down the bed so she can lean against the headboard as she covers herself with it.

"Don't you have to go? What if someone catches you in here?"

"What will they do?" she asks bitterly. "Kill the man I love? No, wait, they've done that already. Maybe they could make me fight to be in the Hunger Games and kill me if I don't try hard enough to win? No, they'll have to think of something else, because they're already going to do that, whether they catch me in here or not."

If I didn't know what to say a minute ago then I certainly don't now. What can I possibly say to her? Is there anything I could say that wouldn't be wrong?

"It's alright, Cashmere," she says after a few minutes of letting me squirm uncomfortably. "Life is the way it is. I was never going to have a happy ending anyway. We were just dreaming. But I don't want to go back to an empty bed in the Training Centre. Can I stay here?"

For the first time since she broke in through the window, she looks and sounds her age rather than decades older, and I don't think I could have refused her request even if I'd wanted to, which I suddenly find that I don't. I nod and she smiles, taking two apples from her pocket and handing one of them to me.

"So you can break into grocery stores as well as bakeries?" I ask her, returning her smile.

She laughs, before proceeding to tell me about her childhood, of how she lived with her grandmother and her little brother, of how she had to steal so they had enough food to survive. When she talks about her brother, she reminds me of how I feel for my own brother, and I suddenly want to go home more than ever.

I shake my head when she tells me of how she signed up to join the Training Centre, which is apparently where District Two trains all of it's would-be-tributes together, when she was twelve, partly so her elderly grandmother would have one less mouth to feed and partly so she would be able to save some of the food she was given there and send it back home when she could.

She smiles when she tells me of how she used to sit on the wall that surrounds the Training Centre every morning at dawn, just to prove to herself that she could escape the guards and evade detection, that she hadn't lost her touch and was still able to get out and see her family. There was a boy who found her there one day. He was a year older than she was, and to start with she ran away because of a fear she knew should have been trained out of her by now, but eventually she stayed, and they carried on like that for years, barely speaking, just sitting in silence and watching the sun rise.

Then there had been a day when she had been out in the main town, stealing because her grandmother had been ill and couldn't work. She'd been inside a shop when the owner had come back, and she'd had no choice to wait until he left, which was well after dark. I can tell by the tone of her voice that wandering the streets of District Two after dark isn't a good idea, and that she was in serious trouble until Corvinus found her.

She refuses to say any more than that, only that the rest is either what I know already or is none of my business, but when I turn to look at her, she is staring into the distance and smiling that smile I know I give Falco however much I try to stop myself. There are tears rolling silently down her cheeks, but if she notices them then she makes no sign of it.

She doesn't speak for several minutes, and I don't question her, giving her the chance to collect her emotions. When she does recover it is to question me about District One in a similar way to how I questioned her. I can't help smiling as I realise I've found someone who is easily as curious as I am. I will have to tell Gloss when I get back home even though I doubt he'll believe me.

"So do you have someone other than your brother waiting for you in One then?" she asks when she eventually has no more questions about District One life and politics. She doesn't look surprised when I shake my head. "I didn't think so."

"Why?"

"Because I think the only person who you'd want to wait for you came to District Two with you."

"Excuse me?" I stutter in reply. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're not as stupid as you look, de Montfort, so don't pretend you don't understand exactly what I'm saying. You never quite convinced me with your little 'I love the Capitol' act, but even though you hide it well, I don't think I'm wrong to believe there's a bit of the Capitol you don't object to in the slightest."

"I… That's not true. We're-"

"Friends?" she laughs. "If you and your Capitol escort are friends then so were Corvinus and I. But don't worry," she continues, putting her finger lightly to her lips, "I won't tell a soul."

"How did you work it out?" I reply eventually, not seeing the point in maintaining my false denial.

She smiles. "To get to my age and still be alive in this place, you either have to be strong, smart, or both." She looks down at herself and shrugs her shoulders. "I don't think I'll be winning any weight-lifting contests, do you?"

I laugh, believing her when she says she won't tell anyone what she's worked out and realising that the trust Corvinus had in me has somehow transferred to the young woman who was his wife and is now his widow. She laughs with me and then pushes herself further down the bed, pulling her coat around herself tightly.

"Go to sleep," she says. "If I'd wanted to kill you then you'd be dead already." When I raise my eyebrows questioningly at her, she continues. "They'll have just changed the guards now. I need to give the new ones time to get drunk and fall asleep."

* * *

When I wake up what must be only a couple of hours later, it is to find that all traces of Astraea Bellafonte-Rossetti's presence have vanished. The covers on the side of the bed she slept on top of are so smooth that I wouldn't believe she'd been there at all if I hadn't seen her with my own eyes. The window she climbed through is pulled tightly shut and the curtains are neatly in place, still open just like I left them. I am still staring blankly around the room for something to prove that what I know wasn't only a dream actually happened when there is a soft knock at the door and Falco walks in.

"You'll have to change or the reporters will see you in the same outfit you were wearing last night and Felix will never forgive you," he says with a smile, before stopping abruptly and staring at me. "What's happened, Butterfly?"

"Astraea was here. Last night."

"Who?"

"Astraea. Corvinus's wife."

"How did she get in here? Did she hurt you?"

I shake my head. "I'm insulted that you think she'd be capable," I reply, feeling strangely comforted by seeing Astraea and sounding more like my old self.

"I'm being serious, Cashmere," he snaps, reaching down and pulling me to my feet, scanning me carefully as if he expects to see visible wounds.

"And so am I," I reply. "No, Falco, she didn't hurt me. She just wanted to talk. She didn't want to be on her own."

He lets me go and I fall forwards into his arms rather than back onto the bed.

"You look like it did you good," he says eventually. I nod as much as I can without moving away from him. "Are you ready for the last stop on the way back to District One?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," I reply, allowing him to lead me from the room and deliver me into the hands of my waiting prep team for what feels like the thousandth time.

* * *

It was still relatively early when we arrived in the Capitol, as District Two isn't all that far away, and from the second the train doors were thrown open and I stepped down onto the platform, I have barely had time to stop and draw breath.

I am convinced that more people have lined the streets and crowded into the many galleries, theatres and shopping centres to see me this time than they did when I was a tribute and straight after I won the Games. They swarm around me in a mass of vivid colours and noise, so numerous that by mid-afternoon my head is spinning and I am no longer able to pay attention to where I am and where I'm going.

Eventually we are allowed to retreat to District One's level of the Training Centre, which is where I will be staying for the duration of my stay in the Capitol, for this time at least. Unless I am mentoring, every time I return here after the tour, I will stay in an apartment that has already been assigned to me. I haven't seen it yet. I don't even know where it is.

It feels strange to be back here. Everything looks the same as it did six months ago and when I walk past it, I can't help staring at the door to the suite of rooms that had been Sheen's. I didn't like him when he was alive, but that doesn't mean I'm not expecting him to appear in the corridor even though I know he's dead.

I push open the door to the rooms that had been mine, but the second I walk into the sitting room and gaze through to the bedroom, I turn around and walk back out again. I remember the nights I spent there, waiting as the arena got closer and closer. Looking back now, I can see that I had no idea what I was volunteering for. How could I have? Nobody can imagine what the Hunger Games arena is truly like unless they have been a tribute themselves. I wonder if Sapphire felt the same when she was in her arena, if she regretted her choice or learnt to accept it like I hope I will come to do. Then I push the thought away before my emotions get the better of me yet again.

I shake my head in an attempt to clear my mind and immediately set off back down the corridor. If I'm going to deal with returning to this place then I know I won't be able to do it alone, and that means I have no choice but to look for Falco and rescue him from whichever reporter has captured him this time. This is becoming a habit, and that thought makes me laugh. I never thought that I would end up rescuing him almost as often as he rescues me. We are a retreat for each other, and often that is what keeps me going.

"I'm going downstairs!" I call to Topaz, who unsurprisingly seems to be the only member of my support team to have made it up to Level One. "I'll be back before Felix is!"

"Cashmere, I don't think-"

Topaz calls after me but I'm already through the main door and running down the corridor to the lift. I don't know where I'm going, I only know that I have to go somewhere. Seconds later, I walk out of the lift into the entrance hall, and I look from side to side before crossing the vast space and heading down a random corridor. I am a victor now, nowhere does it say that I'm not allowed to explore this place.

I turn down a series of corridors before something tells me to stop. I lean against the wall at the end of the current passageway I'm following, and when I listen I can hear voices from around the corner.

"What happened?" asks a man's voice in a barely audible whisper.

His voice sounds vaguely familiar but I don't dare look around the corner to see who it is. He sounds like he doesn't want to be heard and doesn't know I'm here, and that means I might learn something useful. I understand this is a potentially dangerous place to be caught listening in on other people's conversations, but I am a child of District One and old habits die hard.

"Nothing," replies a younger sounding woman. There is a pause before she continues, I imagine in response to a look the man gives her that I can't see. "Honestly. I'm fine. As long as the computer programme works as it should then there is no problem."

"You have to be careful. Nobody can play that sort of game as well as he can. He knows too much."

"Stop fussing, Beetee," says the woman just as I hear footsteps coming down the corridor towards me. "We both know what the alternative is, so if it's all the same to you then I'd rather keep playing games."

Realising I have no choice but to move, I creep a short distance back the way I came before turning and walking steadily towards the pair whose conversation I had unintentionally found myself eavesdropping on. They both turn to look at me, and I immediately recognise the victor from District Three who I had seen just after I saw the Gamemakers on the last day of training before the arena. It takes me slightly longer to place the woman's face but I soon recall she is also one of District Three's four past victors.

"So," she says. "The famous Cashmere de Montfort. I see the travelling circus that is your Victory Tour has finally reached the big city lights."

"Marchessa," says the man named Beetee, a slight hint of warning in his voice even though he remains as calm as I suspect he always is.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" I retort, annoyed by the woman's attitude.

"Only that it's been a while since a tribute created quite the spectacle you seem to get closer to perfecting every time you appear in public," she replies. "I meant no offence," she continues in what I would call a very offensive tone, somehow managing to look disdainfully down her nose at me despite how she is typical of her district in appearance and is therefore at least a foot shorter than I am.

I step towards her, quickly turning the tables and making it necessary for her to look up at me if she wants to continue to meet my eyes, which she seems intent on doing. I start to tell her that I know precisely what she meant, but her companion raises his hand, his movement stopping me from both moving and speaking.

"Forgive me," he says, "we have never been properly introduced. I am Beetee and this is Marchessa, but I think you've worked that out for yourself by now."

"I don't know about that, Beetee. She's from District One so it might take a while."

I glare at the woman but choose to ignore her. If she wishes to underestimate me than that is her choice and her mistake. "Cashmere," I reply, extending my hand to Beetee, "but I know you knew that already."

"You seem to be coping well with your victory," says Beetee, smiling kindly as if to tell me that he knows how I must be feeling. I don't understand his benevolence considering how I killed one of his tributes and was present at the death of the other, but I don't question it.

"Or maybe I'm just good at pretending," I reply softly, looking at him and ignoring Marchessa even though I can feel her dark eyes boring into me in a way that isn't nearly as forgiving.

"You'll have to be good at pretending in six months time, won't you," she says. "You'll be back on that stage on the other end of the reaping for the first time. Can you imagine what that will feel like? To know that the person picked from the crowd to stand on the stage beside you will only have a one in twenty-four chance of survival."

"Like you said, Marchessa," I retort sharply, "I am from District One, so I think the odds will be more in my tribute's favour than that."

She stares back at me, a couple of strands of her black hair escaping from it's clip to frame her face, and I see a fierce intelligence in her eyes that I'm not used to seeing in anyone, not even Falco. Whatever the two victors from District Three were talking about, I get the impression that there aren't many who would be smart enough to play the unknown game they were referring to.

"I have to go," I say, smiling slightly at Beetee and simply nodding to Marchessa, who returns my gesture but still says nothing.

I turn and quickly make my way back down the corridor, unable to get the woman from District Three's words out of my mind. She's right, and I had been so wrapped up in my own experience of the Games and all that has followed it that I didn't see it. In six months time, I will have to be a mentor to a pair of tributes in the Sixty-seventh Hunger Games, and there is every chance that those two tributes will die, just like Sheen did, just like Sapphire did. Who will they be? A boy and a girl I went to school with? A son and a daughter of two of my father's friends, people I am sure to know from the many parties we will have attended together?

This is yet another nightmare I haven't really allowed myself to consider, but what Marchessa said has changed that. As I push open the main door on Level One, I can't stop thinking about the next Games. What am I going to say to the tributes? What am I going to do to help them win? What can I do when even if one of them wins then the other has to die?

Once, as I lay awake after what felt like the millionth nightmare I've had since the arena, I asked Falco when it will start to get easier, when I will learn to cope with what happened, but I realise now that will never happen. I will never forget the Hunger Games because I will always have to be a mentor and there will be no escape. I have had many stupid notions in my life, but the most stupid one of all is the idea that competing in the Games would give me freedom. This isn't freedom, this is the tiniest prison cell in Panem, and the Capitol is never going to let me go.

_It was nice to return to District Two for this one so I hope it worked ;) Any thoughts, let me know..._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

I was still thinking about my meeting with the victors of District Three when Felix and the prep team arrived to get me ready for tonight's banquet. They dressed me even more elaborately than they have done before, and if they noticed how distracted I was then they said nothing. It was only when Felix added so many pieces of diamond jewellery to accessorise my outfit I thought he was never going to stop that I had returned to the present enough to comment, telling my stylist that if he made me wear any more then I would no longer be able to walk because of the weight.

"This is the Capitol now, Cashmere, not the districts," he had said with uncharacteristic seriousness as he fastened a chain of diamonds around my neck and entwined my sapphire pendant around it, knowing better than to ask me to take it off. "This is what will be expected."

As I look around the vast crowd that fills the president's banquet room, I am no longer able to question the wisdom of Felix's words. I have never seen so much finery as I'm seeing now, and the jewels I'm wearing no longer seem over the top now I have others to compare myself to.

I turn around quickly in response to a loud burst of laughter and see Caesar Flickerman holding court over a group of followers, all of whom seem to be hanging on his every word. The interview I had given earlier on hadn't been as bad as I thought it would be. Caesar seemed intent on treating me like an old friend and I didn't see a reason to protest, allowing him to guide me through the discussion with his familiar mix of seemingly shallow questions and banter. I was just relieved to get to the end without having to talk about Gloss, Sapphire or the Games in any real detail, and judging from what people have said to me so far, the Caesar and Cashmere Show wasn't a disappointment to them either.

Falco and Felix are on the other side of the room, but when I try to make my way over to them, I quickly realise it's going to be an impossible task. Every time I take a step, there's a new person who wants to shake my hand, kiss my cheek or congratulate me on winning the Games. I smile politely, nod in what I hope are the right places, and try to let my District One manners take over so I don't say something I shouldn't. At every available opportunity, I still take a step towards the only two people in the room who I really want to talk to. I hope that nobody notices.

I take another step, smiling when I notice I'm only a short distance away from my destination, but I abruptly stop both moving and breathing when a man suddenly appears in front of me to block my way. As I stare across at him, I decide that I would probably think him almost harmless were it not for the look in his eyes. Nobody has eyes like President Snow. He has a look that makes my father appear kind, calm and lacking the ruthless streak needed to truly succeed in a place like Panem. I've only met him once before, and that was very briefly during my Victory Ceremony, but that is enough for me to know that I would be a happier and more relaxed person if I never met him again.

"It is a pleasure to see you here again, Miss de Montfort," he says, smiling his serpent smile.

I immediately know the way this conversation is going to go. We are going to talk about seemingly inconsequential things, his eyes are going to roam over my body like I'm a new dress in a shop window and I am going to attempt to watch my tongue at the same time as trying not to let the strange and overwhelming scent of roses I have already come to associate with him suffocate me completely. In other words, it's going to be exactly like the previous time.

"It's a pleasure to be here," I reply at the same time as I think how that couldn't be further from the truth and desperately hope my true feelings aren't reflected in my voice.

"And to conclude what has generally been a very successful tour with an even more successful day," he continues, and for some reason, I get the impression that he knows exactly how uncomfortable I am in his presence and is enjoying this immensely. "You are very well liked here, as I am sure you have noticed."

"Of course," I venture cautiously. "I am very flattered that so many people take the time to wait to see me."

"You enjoyed your brief tour around my city?" he says, phrasing his words like a question even though we both know there is only one answer I can give.

"Yes."

"Then how would you feel about extending your stay by a couple of days?"

How would I feel? If I were to give him an honest answer than I would say that I could think of nothing worse. I would tell him that the only thought which has enabled me to get through this day and all the days that came before it since I left District One is the thought of tomorrow, when I would finally be able to get back on the tribute train and it would take me home. Or would have taken me home. My heart sinks when I realise there's no way I'm going home tomorrow now.

"I would be happy to stay," I reply eventually, surprising myself when I manage to get the words out and even sound relatively convincing.

"Excellent," answers the president, and there is something in his look that makes me shiver as my blood suddenly runs cold. "There are so many places you haven't seen yet, so many people who haven't had the chance to meet their newest victor face-to-face."

I take as deep a breath as I dare and am about to say something further despite not knowing quite what, but the way the president gazes over my shoulder stops me. I half turn in the direction he is looking and am surprised to see Felix, who clearly doesn't know what to do with himself when Snow beckons him towards us.

"Rumour tells me that you have ambitions beyond even styling for the Games," says the president to my stylist, who very subtly pales in response. "I believe you are due to put on a show for the biggest fashion house in the city."

"I am."

I try to smile encouragingly at Felix, but I imagine I am feeling so nervous and tense that my expression is more a grimace than a smile.

"Then who better to model the best pieces in your collection than the girl who made you famous?"

"I…I thought Cashmere was returning to District One in the morning," he says, looking closely at me.

"Don't you worry about that," replies Snow, and though his tone is clearly meant to be friendly and conspiratorial, his smile never reaches his eyes, and to me, the hint of menace never quite leaves his voice. "We have agreed that District One will be able to survive being deprived of her presence for a little longer. Haven't we, Cashmere?"

"We have," I reply, unable to meet Felix's eyes for fear that the mask I have no choice but to wear will fall to the floor and the president will see the truth of my thoughts.

"Then I would be happy to have your assistance," he says, his smile just that little bit too wide to be genuine.

I nod, every muscle in my body tensing even more when President Snow rests his hand on my arm. I suddenly want nothing more than to refuse to stay here another minute and demand to go home. I can't stand this constant performance. I can't take it any longer. I want Gloss and I want Falco, the real Falco not the one who is also here performing for an audience, the Falco I am starting to suspect only I see.

"Please excuse us," says the president, staring unblinkingly at me for several seconds before leading Felix away, no doubt to continue their discussion about exactly how ambitious my stylist really is.

I smile fixedly and say nothing, which seems to be all that is required of me, and then I spend the next half an hour in the same place, eating what appear to be some kind of chocolate truffles from a plate without really noticing them at all. For once, I am left alone, and I am allowed to remain lost in my thoughts until I abruptly return to reality when my eyes meet Falco's even though he is on the other side of the vast room. Something's wrong, I can tell, and I can also tell from the way he's looking at me that I am going to find out what it is very soon.

"Cashmere, what's going on?" he asks as he strides towards me, his expression very different from the serene calmness I'm used to. "People are saying you're not leaving in the morning."

"I'm not," I reply, hoping that he will pick up the reluctance I feel at the thought from my tone of voice and body language because I certainly can't convey it in words. "The president invited me to stay for a little longer."

"Why?"

I step forwards so I am less than a stride away from him, narrowing my eyes in a way I hope tells him that we can't have this conversation here. It seems strange to be the one telling him such a thing when it's usually the other way around.

"Because he says there are some more places I haven't visited yet, that there are some people who haven't had the chance to meet me yet."

"I bet he did," he says with a darkness I don't quite understand.

"And he said that Felix is putting on some sort of fashion show. I'm supposed to model for him. I wanted to help him so I said I would," I reply, Falco's unusually obvious emotions transferring to me and combining with how meeting the president already made me feel on edge to make me more than a little flustered.

He turns and walks towards the massive banquet room doors, knowing I will follow him without him having to ask. Part of me thinks I should stay right where I am, just to prove to myself and to him that I won't always follow, but that part is swiftly crushed by the rest of me, which would never let him walk away.

As soon as he steps past the Peacekeepers who guard the president's front door, I hear the screech of tyres which tells me his car has arrived. I run past the Peacekeepers, who look at me curiously but say nothing, to see the same black car I remember from when he took me out of the Training Centre when I was a tribute. I can't see Falco but one of the car doors is left wide open, so I quickly make my way down the wide, tree-lined path and get in before he changes his mind and leaves me here.

"What did he really say to you?"

My back hits the leather-covered seat hard as I fly backwards against it when Falco's driver sends the car forwards far too quickly for my liking. The tyres screech again and I am slightly breathless as I look up at my almost-lover with wide eyes, unsure exactly what the problem is.

"What I said before," I reply cautiously. "Why? What do you think he said to me?"

He looks intently into my eyes for so long that eventually I have to look down at my lap because I can't hold his gaze anymore.

"Nothing," he says with a sigh. "I just get suspicious when they change the schedule, that's all. I don't know what I thought."

He moves closer, puts his arm around me and pulls me against him. I'm not quite convinced by his sudden change in demeanour and still think there's something he isn't telling me, but I'm so relieved that he's returned to his normal self that I don't mention it.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see," he replies. His voice is almost mischievous and is also what makes me decide to push any suspicions I had about him keeping something from me firmly to the back of my mind.

"Falco, it's the middle of the night. I demand that you tell me where we're going. Right now."

His only response is to laugh at me. "Actually, it isn't the middle of the night, it's about half past three in the morning," he says flatly.

"Stop being pedantic and tell me where we're going."

"Look for yourself," he replies, nodding towards the window as the car turns into a strangely familiar tunnel, which dips down and then rises up again.

I know what I'm going to see before I look, but am once again speechless at the sight of the vast building I have visited once before. The silver ivy leaf-framed windows are as I remember them, as is the fountain surrounded by masses of shops and restaurants on every side. Instead of stopping in the middle of the bridge as we did before, the car keeps going and eventually dips down back into darkness before coming to a halt in front of a set of lift doors.

Falco pushes me away from him and then leans across me to open the car door. I look at him questioningly but he says nothing.

"What are you doing? Where are we going?"

"Just get out of the car, Butterfly," he replies, pushing me towards the door.

I do as he says, staring at the pink marble walls of the lobby as he pushes the gold call button. The lift arrives seconds later and before I know it, I am stepping out into the middle of the place I have only ever seen from a distance. The fountain looks even bigger this close up, and I stand in dumbstruck silence as I watch the silver water cascading down from one level to the next. It takes me several minutes to realise the one massive difference between now and when I was last here: The hoards of people have gone. The only people here are Falco and I.

"I said I'd bring you here, didn't I?" he says, looking more than slightly smug.

"Where is everyone else?"

"It's quarter to four in the morning," he says, definitely smirking now. "Not even the People from the Other World go shopping at quarter to four in the morning."

I laugh at his use of Gloss's nickname for the citizens of the Capitol, but narrow my eyes at him immediately after. "Does that mean we shouldn't be here? If we shouldn't be doing this…"

"I can do what I like," he replies, reaching out and taking my hand, pulling me down one of the many wide and bright corridors like a young boy in a toy shop. "And you're with me. Aren't you?" he asks, suddenly stopping and letting my hand fall back to my side.

I nod, quickly taking his hand again, and I'm immediately rewarded with the widest, happiest smile I've ever seen on his face. As he pulls me along once more, I realise that we both knew we weren't talking only about being here in this place.

We walk along hand-in-hand, looking in all of the shop windows even though they aren't open. I've never seen so many different jewels and fabrics, so much technology used simply to save people time or to provide them with entertainment rather than for any proper and useful function.

Falco doesn't mention tonight's party and I don't either. We don't even mention the president or the Games and especially not the Tour . We talk of inconsequential things, stories of both the Capitol and District One, current and otherwise, and I can't help wondering if this is what it feels like to be 'normal'. Is this what people who fall in love in the Capitol do? Is the concept if not the luxurious surroundings familiar to the men and women of the districts whose lives are so very different to mine?

"What are you thinking?" he asks me eventually.

"That this is strangely normal for you and me."

He laughs. "You mean you make a habit of wandering around deserted shopping centres in the early hours of the morning?"

"You know what I meant," I retort, playfully hitting his shoulder.

He smiles and stops walking as we approach the fountain once again. He pulls me to a halt beside him and takes a blue velvet box from his pocket, holding out to me.

"In that different life where we walk along hand in hand for all to see, this box would contain something else a lot smaller, Cashmere," he whispers as I take the box from him with a suddenly trembling hand.

I open it to reveal a silver bracelet, each separate link containing a sapphire surrounded by many tiny diamonds. I stare up at him and he holds my gaze, only breaking it when I raise my other hand to take the bracelet from it's container. He grasps my wrist to stop me.

"Think about it," he says. "Think about what I said before you do that."

"I don't have to," I reply firmly, taking the bracelet and holding both it and my other wrist out to him. "Although I don't know what Astoria would say if she could see us now."

He rolls his eyes in an uncharacteristically undignified manner, and I am glad to see him react that way. It means that we have both accepted the woman's insignificance.

"She wouldn't even notice," he replies, his tone slightly more serious as he fastens the bracelet around my wrist. "She has more than enough lovers to keep her amused."

"Good," I say. "Then she won't care that you've found a vastly superior alternative to her then, will she?"

He raises his eyebrows at that and I blush and look away when I realise how my words must have sounded.

"You know what I meant," I continue, thinking that phrase is becoming one I have used a lot tonight. He just laughs so I decide to try a different tactic. "I remember last time we were here you mentioned something about Felix daring you to walk across that fountain."

His laughter fades and he looks at me suspiciously. "And…?"

"And I'm thinking that I might just have to do the same, especially as your former accomplice tells me how you never could refuse a dare."

"No chance," he replies flatly, blatantly still teasing me. "Have you any idea who I am? I can't be seen to be doing something so…inappropriate. Unless-"

"There's nobody to see you," I interrupt.

"Unless," he continues as if he hadn't heard me. "Unless you come with me."

I shriek as he lifts me up and throws me over his shoulder, running up the steps that surround the fountain before continuing through the waterfall to the other side. The water is as freezing as he said, so cold that it knocks the breath from my body and drenches me even in that short time.

"How could you?" I gasp as he puts me down and the water begins to drip from both of us onto the previously immaculate marble floor.

"Quite easily," he replies, grinning broadly. "You're not that heavy. I can demonstrate again if you like."

He steps towards me and I snarl in return, backing away quickly and then trying not to laugh at myself when my feet slide on the wet floor and I have to grasp his arm so I don't fall over. He pulls me against him and reluctantly leads me back towards the lifts.

"We should go now," he says. "This place opens early so the cleaners and the maintenance people will arrive soon."

"I thought people who live here don't get up until at least midday," I reply teasingly, laughing because I know he's usually up at dawn.

"We're not all the same," he answers, suddenly more serious than he was before. "We don't all have the same opinions."

"I know that," I tell him firmly, still getting the impression that there's something more that he isn't telling me. "I wouldn't be wearing this if I doubted you," I continue, lifting my wrist so my bracelet catches the light.

"I love you, Cashmere. You don't ever have to doubt that."

"I know. And for what it's worth, I love you too."

He pulls me to a halt and silently stares down at me for a long time before he answers. "It's worth everything," he says. Then he turns and walks away, almost getting to the lift doors before I return to reality enough to run after him.

* * *

When we return to Level One of the Training Centre, the only person there is Felix, and we find him pacing around the dining room, looking frantically from one pile of fabric to another. He is more stressed than I have ever seen him, and I know he's thinking about his exhibition tomorrow, or should I say later today. He is still lost in his work when he first notices Falco and I, but that doesn't last long.

"I'm not even going to ask," he says, his eyes flicking from our soaking wet clothes to my formerly immaculate golden curls, which are doubtlessly now sticking out at all angles as a result of my close encounter with the fountain.

"Ask what?" replies Falco innocently, and I suddenly find it all too easy to imagine a young teenage version of him asking the same question of his family or friends in a similar situation.

"Why a most esteemed member of Panem's government and the newest victor of the Hunger Games are standing opposite me soaking wet and with their clothes tinted distinctly silver," he says flatly.

I look down at myself and notice for the first time that Felix is right, and that whatever they use to make the water in the fountain appear silver has also made my previously cream-coloured dress react in much the same way. Trust a stylist to notice such a thing.

"I dared him to go in the fountain in the shopping centre," I answer, struggling to stop myself from laughing for long enough to get my words out. "It didn't quite work out the way I planned."

"But why…? No, on second thoughts, I don't actually want to know," says my stylist, who smiles slightly despite how preoccupied he obviously is. "Go and change though or you'll get cold."

"I'm already cold," I reply, strangely touched by the concern he feels for me, which makes me quickly leave the room and change my clothes as instructed.

When I return, Falco is in a different shirt and sitting on one side of the sofa, deep in conversation with Felix, who sits on the opposite side. I can't resist crossing the room and flopping down between them, pretending to struggle when Falco reaches for me and drags me towards him but then quickly giving in and relaxing. I try to ignore how they fell silent when they saw me, but I soon realise that I can't.

"What's so interesting that you can't tell me?" I ask, looking up at both of them in turn.

Felix looks at me intently before replying. "We were trying to decide why the president wants to help me by having you remain here."

"You mean that you were trying to decide that and I was just hoping that this really is all about you," replies Falco, not quite meeting my eyes as he talks.

"What else would it be about?" asks Felix immediately.

"I don't know," he says, taking far longer to reply than my stylist, as if he has something he wants to say and then changes his mind. "It's just unusual, that's all."

"Who am I to question the president's ways?"

"How very true," replies Falco teasingly. "A mere stylist like you should just do what he's told."

"Where's the fun in that?"

We all laugh at Felix's quick reply and finally the atmosphere in the room loses the tension and returns to normal. After that, we sit there and talk about everything but the Games, mostly about tomorrow's big fashion show. When I hear how important it is to Felix, I'm almost glad I'm staying, because without wanting to be intentionally arrogant, I know that my presence will make a difference and I want to repay him for what he did for me when I was a tribute.

* * *

What felt like only a few minutes later, the Training Centre Avoxes knocked on the door and brought us breakfast. I wouldn't have minded if I'd actually had time to eat it, but one minute I was helping myself to a piece of bread and the next I was being ushered out of the room by a garishly dressed man who seemed to be trying to inform me that all of the other models for today's show had been at the Grand Hall for over an hour. I think that's what he was saying anyway. He spoke so quickly and his accent was that thick and affected that I couldn't be sure.

My protests were ignored and I soon had the sense to give in and do as I was told. Felix was accompanying me there anyway so it wasn't so bad, and even though I have spent the entire day feeling very much like I've been existing in a parallel universe full of wigs, make-up and elaborate costumes, my stylist's ambition and the pride he has in his work is contagious, and I've definitely had worse experiences.

"So did you manage to ensure the whole event wasn't a complete failure?" asks Falco teasingly as he holds the car door open for me, his voice interrupting my thoughts.

"I was the designer exhibiting at the event," replies Felix before I can speak, pretending to take offence at his friend's words. "There was no way it was going to be a failure."

"Be careful, Falco," I say laughingly as both men climb into the car with me. "He's spent the entire day listening to most of the Capitol's population telling him how fabulous he is. Soon his ego won't fit through doorways."

"I'm sure between us we'll find a way to keep his feet on the ground," he says with a smirk in my former-stylist's direction.

"My feet are firmly on the ground already," retorts Felix, "and I resent the implication that my overwhelmingly phenomenal success has gone to my head."

We all laugh at that and it's a couple of minutes before I sit up, leaning across Falco to look out of the window. He coughs quietly and it's only when I turn to face him that I notice how close we really are. He reaches up to grasp the back of my dress and pulls me gently back onto the seat.

"You're better at torturing me than the president's Peacekeeper guards could ever be," he whispers.

I look down at my lap, suddenly embarrassed, but not before my eyes flash in Felix's direction. He's staring out of the window, but I can tell by the slight smile on his face that he heard my almost-lover's words.

"Where are we going?" I ask, trying to change both the subject and the charged atmosphere that suddenly fills the tightly enclosed space of the back of the car.

"To your apartment," replies Falco. "They told me that you had to see it, so here we are."

"Since when have you followed orders?" I ask, rolling my eyes at him.

"I think you should see it anyway. So you have somewhere to go when you come here."

My heart sinks at the mention of how I will have to return here, and my emotions must show on my face because he smiles and squeezes my wrist, pushing my bracelet tightly against my skin.

"We're here," says Felix. "We might as well have a look as we've come this far."

"So that's why we're really here," I reply. "We're here because you're nosy and you want to have a snoop around."

"That's not true," he protests, but his smile tells me that it is.

"Do all of the other victors have apartments here too?"

"Yes," answers Falco, "but you won't see much of them. Usually the only time everyone comes to the Capitol at the same time is for the Games."

"And I'll be at the Training Centre then," I reply sadly, suddenly thinking once more about how I will be a mentor in less than six short months time.

He nods but doesn't say anything as we walk through into the entrance hall and over to a set of silver lift doors.

"We'll be with you though," he says when the lift arrives and the three of us step inside.

"I might not be," says Felix, appearing very shyly pleased with himself. "The Grand Hall have offered me a place. I think I'm going to accept."

"You should," I tell him. "You've worked so hard for the opportunity."

"But I'd never have got this far if I hadn't walked into that room in the Remake Centre and found you."

"You'd have succeeded with or without me," I reply, "but if you feel like I'm responsible then listen to my advice and take the job. Please."

Falco laughs. "Yes, Felix, take the job. Do not ever question the will of the almighty Cashmere."

"Stop it," I whine, reaching out and hitting his arm. "I'm being serious."

He looks like he's going to reply but he doesn't get chance as the lift doors open and a female voice with a very strong Capitol accent announces that we have arrived at the seventh floor.

The apartment I am shown to is small by Capitol standards but is as luxurious as any place I have stayed in before. We look around briefly and then return to the sitting room, investigating its contents as we try to decide what to do next.

"Does this work?" I ask eventually, tapping the phone that rests on the corner of the table.

"Of course it works," replies Falco laughingly. "Why else would it be there?"

"From what I've seen of this city, if it didn't work then it wouldn't be the first time I've seen something that looks functional but then turns out to be entirely decorative."

This time it's Felix who laughs as he turns away from the cupboard he was investigating to look back at Falco. "I never thought I'd see the day you met your match, my friend, but I think I've been proved wrong."

"You know you have," retorts Falco immediately, still smiling and looking happier than I've ever seen him since the day I opened my eyes after they pulled me from the arena.

"So can I call Gloss?"

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" he says. "Remember what I told you about most of the phone lines."

I nod, recalling one of our many whispered conversations back in District One, where he had told me that most of the phone lines in Panem are bugged, and that the president's Peacekeepers monitor whichever conversations they like. When I left the Capitol after my Victor's Interview, he had reassured me that his phone line was secure, and as neither of us have been executed for treason, I believe him. However I know that his warning means the same can't be said of the line from the apartment I am supposed to call mine.

"He'll be worried about me. I need to explain. And besides, I'm sure I'll cope," I reply with a sly smile, picking up the receiver and dialling the number of my house back in District One. It's a struggle to remember it because I have needed it so infrequently, and when Gloss answers, the shock of hearing his familiar and beloved voice in this strange, alien place almost makes me drop the phone.

"Cashmere? Is that you?"

"How do you know that?" I say when I eventually find my voice.

"Who else would be calling this number when you're in the Capitol?" he asks, and I can hear the smile on his face even though I can't see it. Then the tone of his voice changes and I can imagine that reflected on his expression. "And why _are _you still in the Capitol? You should be on your way home."

"The president has invited me to stay a little longer," I reply, trying to keep the reluctance I feel from my voice.

"Why?" asks my brother immediately, telling me that my attempt didn't work.

"Gloss, do you remember what Sapphire used to say? Because that's still true now. Don't forget."

After a few seconds silence, during which I look across the room to see questioning expressions on both Felix and Falco's faces, he tells me that he remembers and that he won't forget. However after that, he is so obviously watching his words and we are so obviously talking in riddles only we will understand that I quickly end the call for his own good even though I want to keep listening to his voice. I am the newest victor, so the chances are that my conversations will be monitored. I don't want to take the risk that one of us might inadvertently say something which could be misconstrued.

"What were you talking about?" asks Falco. "I think I only understood one in three sentences of that."

"Nothing really. I was telling him exactly how thrilled I am at the prospect of staying here a bit longer, just without using the actual words."

"What did Sapphire always say?"

I smile sadly at the memory and I speak in barely a whisper when I answer him. "She always used to say that the Powers That Be hear everything. She meant my father, but I figured Gloss would work it out that I didn't…"

"And that's why you were talking nonsense?"

"Falco Hazelwell, I would have you know that I never talk nonsense. Just because you don't understand something, that doesn't make it nonsense."

"I'm not at all convinced by that," he replies, smirking as he leads me from the room and Felix follows.

We return to the Training Centre and eat the food provided for us. There's no sign of Lace or Topaz, or of anyone else for that matter, other than the usual smattering of reporters and photographers in the entrance hall, of course, and that makes me hope that I will be allowed to go home tomorrow.

When I ask Falco what he thinks, he says that I might be and then pulls me around on the sofa so he can hold me tightly against him, refusing to say anything further. He doesn't let me go even when Felix walks back into the room, and after a while I begin to drift off to sleep to the sound of them talking about people and places I've never heard of.

I wake up in the morning still curled up in Falco's arms, and when I turn my head, I see Felix asleep beside me. The sun is shining between the curtains that nobody closed last night but I ignore it and tighten my grip on Falco's arm, still hoping that today will be the day I am finally allowed to get back on the train.

**So...I have finally got to the part I've been dreading, the part where I have to confront Finnick's Mockingjay revelation... As some of my regular reviewers will probably know, I had no idea Mockingjay would affect my story as much as it did and the thought of writing about President Snow and the victors fills me with reluctance because I doubt I have the writing ability to cope... Which is why I freely admit this chapter exists because I was attempting to delay the inevitable! BNTN, if you're reading then I promised you I would ask the opinion of those reading before I just give up, so this is me doing exactly that ;) If you're out there and reading, what do you think? To carry on or not? :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**For once, I am writing an Author's Note and I don't really know what to say, so I think I will just stick with thanking everyone who has told me I can write this - I hold you responsible for making me an emotional wreck but I'm flattered you encouraged me to have a go anyway ;) Violence and cannons firing in the arena, I can do without batting an eyelid, but this is something else entirely, so I would be grateful if you could not expect too much when you read...**

**I've worked hard to keep this and especially the chapter that follows it within the existing rating and I don't think I need to change it, but you've all read Mockingjay and you all know what happens next so I don't think I need to say anything further.**

Chapter Five

I can tell something is wrong as soon as I walk back into the dining room. Falco had gone out first thing and he only returned about an hour ago. Now he and Felix are still there where I left them but they aren't talking. The atmosphere that has been slightly strange all day, mostly because of Falco, has changed yet again, and not for the better. I open my mouth to ask what could possibly have happened in the time it took me to get my jumper from my bedroom, but Falco raises his hand and so I say nothing. He stares unblinkingly at me for at least a minute, and in the end it is Felix who breaks the silence.

"President Snow wishes to see you, Cashmere," he says, nodding to a gilt-edged piece of paper that lies on the table in front of him.

I watch as the Avox who obviously delivered the letter glides silently back to the door and disappears, before looking at my stylist in confusion.

"When?" I ask, not understanding why such a thing could cause all this fuss. It's true that the president is the easily most intimidating and terrifying person I've ever met, but we have spoken briefly before, both when I was crowned at my Victory Ceremony, at the banquet that followed and then later on during the banquet held on the evening of the first day I arrived here to conclude the tour two days earlier.

"At your convenience," he answers wryly. "Which you should translate as 'right now', of course."

"Where?"

"I'm to escort you to his mansion."

I nod and then turn my attention to Falco, who hasn't said a word since I came back into the room. "Are you coming with us?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," he replies grimly, before rising to his feet and disappearing the same way as the Avox.

Felix calls after him and when I ask him what the problem is, he shrugs his shoulders, clearly as confused as I am.

"Get your coat then," he says brightly. "It's cold out and it would be a shame for you not to wear it when I did all that stitching with my own fair hands."

I laugh, hurrying out of the room to fetch the coat he's referring to, a deep purple creation with the most intricate embroidery I have ever seen painstakingly worked into the soft, luxurious wool he tells me I was named for, a mixture of black and silver that catches the light when I move.

* * *

There was a car waiting for us outside the Training Centre to take us to the president's mansion, and even though the first thing I thought was that it seems a bit pointless when the two buildings are virtually next door to each other, I said nothing.

Felix's earlier cheerfulness has faded and we sit in silence for the short journey. I suddenly feel nervous but that is nothing compared to what my stylist is feeling if his outward appearance is anything to go by. I suppose he met the president formally when he was given his job and so knows he has to be very careful what he says too.

A Peacekeeper holds the door open for me and I step outside, turning back to face Felix and looking questioningly at him when he doesn't follow.

"The invitation's yours not mine, Cashmere. I'll wait for you here."

"But…" I start, suddenly not wanting to be without his familiar and comforting presence.

"President Snow is waiting for you, Miss de Montfort," interrupts the Peacekeeper. "This way, please."

I can tell immediately that his manners are a courtesy he doesn't have to grant me. I have no choice as to whether I follow him or not and we both know it. I shrug my shoulders and allow him to escort me up the vast staircase. The president probably just wants me to make another public appearance somewhere. He probably just wants me to condone something else the Capitol has done in the name of maintaining order in Panem, using my recent fame to his advantage. As if my appearance in the Hunger Games isn't enough. Still, it's not like I can refuse to do that either. I've lived this long, I'm not about to throw my life away for the sake of a few words I will always know are empty and meaningless.

I am rushed through the entrance hall of the vast mansion and through a door that lies almost behind the massive staircase that fills the centre of the room. What I find behind the door wasn't what I was expecting, for I am no longer surrounded by massive stone pillars and pale marble, but by dark wood panelling and a blood-red carpet that is so thick my footsteps are silent despite my high-heeled shoes. In fact, there is no sound at all, to the point where I'm convinced I can hear my heart beating as it races so fast I'm surprised it doesn't burst from my chest.

The Peacekeeper eventually stops outside a huge mahogany door and taps on it three times, leaning into it closely. I don't hear if there is a response or not but he obviously does, because he somehow pushes the door open and backs away in the same movement, leaving me standing there in the doorway, staring into the office that lies beyond.

"Come in, come in. Don't stand outside," calls a shockingly cold voice in a tone that is clearly intended to be welcoming. It isn't.

Knowing I have no choice and trying to convince myself of that when really all I want to do is run and hide, I step into the room, looking around at the books that line the walls, at the way the thick red carpet continues in here as well, at the massive television screen that takes up one side of the room. Anything to avoid meeting the gaze of the man who sits behind the desk in front of me.

"You wanted to see me, President," I say hesitantly when I know I can delay looking at him no longer. His eyes are as cold as his voice, and I suddenly feel chilled to the bone at the way he is looking at me.

"Have a seat," he says, nodding briefly to the chair next to me. "Take off your coat."

"I'd rather leave it on if I can," I say, relieved to hear my voice is steady even though I'm trembling inside and for some reason suddenly feeling desperate to keep every flimsy defence I have against him as close to me as I can.

I try to imagine what Falco would be doing if he was here now, how he would hide his true emotions like he usually does and let nobody know what he's really feeling unless he wants them to. I hope my practice at emulating him has paid off.

He nods, his cold and calculating eyes never leaving mine. "I understand it's slightly warmer in District One at this time of year, so it's not surprising you're feeling the cold."

"I haven't been there for a couple of weeks so I'm not sure," I offer, hoping that the sooner he gets to the point, the sooner I can leave.

"You must be looking forward to returning," he replies.

"Of course," I start, before abruptly realising what that will sound like and hastily continuing. "But that doesn't mean I'm not happy to be here. Everyone has been so kind to me."

He smiles, his too-full lips stretching to the point where it almost looks like a grimace. "I understand it will be your birthday tomorrow. A day before you return home for your final victory presentation." I nod in response, not sure why I should be surprised he knows such a detail. "I would be delighted if you would celebrate your special day with me here in my home. I will be having a feast in the Banquet Hall that evening so it will be perfect timing."

"I would be delighted to accept your invitation," I reply evenly, letting my District One manners do the talking for me as I desperately hope that that was why he asked me here and that my time under the proverbial spotlight will come to an end now.

"Wonderful," he exclaims with another smile. "I was so pleased by your victory, Miss de Montfort, so pleased. You won the hearts of so many of this city's citizens before you even went into the arena. I remember the evening of your interview like it was yesterday. I can think of only one other who was as greatly sponsored."

That makes two of us, I think, just as the image of Finnick Odair's almost too perfect face swims across my mind. I try to keep my own face neutral despite my increasingly conflicted emotions.

"I was pleased that people wanted to support me," I reply, trying to keep my words as even as my expression when I am somehow feeling like I have only heard half of this conversation.

"I believe it is only appropriate that you should thank some of those who contributed so much to keeping you alive," he says, and I stare across the desk at him.

What does he mean? I have no power here in the Capitol other than what little I gain by appearing in magazines to endorse beauty products I have never used. Falco told me enough before the arena for me to know that the people who really matter when it comes to sponsorship in the Games are people like him. People who are rich and powerful beyond my wildest dreams. I have nothing to interest them.

"They will be at your party?" I ask, the hesitant note in my voice abruptly returning. "You want me to speak to them?"

He laughs, a cackling sound that ends as quickly as it began. "Certainly, but considering how heavily in their debt you are, I'm not quite sure mere words will be enough, are you?" Every word he adds seems to terrifyingly decrease the density of the haze of confusion that surrounds me, and he still keeps talking. "You're very beautiful, and the arena showed everyone how intelligent and resourceful you are, so I have no doubt you can work out my meaning without making it necessary for me to lower the tone of our little chat any further."

"Pardon?" I say after several seconds of stunned silence, my voice really stuttering now. He doesn't… No, I'm hearing things. The pressure of the Victory Tour is finally getting to me, because he wouldn't do that. He couldn't. Could he?

"This…awkward conversation will be over a lot quicker if you don't pretend to misunderstand me, Miss de Montfort," he says, ringing a bell that is attached to the side of the desk.

An Avox enters carrying a tray of food and drinks, stopping me from replying immediately. I watch the young woman intently as a way of avoiding Snow's eyes, and I have to fight the urge to chase after her when she leaves. Then I take a deep breath to try and stop myself from shaking. It doesn't work, but at least my voice is steadier when I reply to him.

"I won't do it. I'm not a whore and I won't become one."

"Is that right?" he answers coldly. "Is that why one of the members of my government came to this very office this morning and offered me an exorbitant amount of money that even I didn't know he possessed until now to make me change my mind about this? Do you expect me to believe he wants you for your wit and conversation?"

Just when I thought I couldn't get any colder, I am proven wrong as a result of his words. Falco. He knew about this. That's why he couldn't look at me before I came here. He tried to save me and failed. But how long has he known? How long has he let me carry on in ignorance of what my fate may hold? Since before I even went into the arena?

"Ah," he says sharply. "I think we're finally starting to understand each other. I can tell by your expression that you know how…difficult I could make life for your esteemed and honourable escort. It's lucky for Mr Hazelwell that I view him as being so very indispensable and therefore feel able to overlook this uncharacteristic foolishness."

He doesn't speak again after that, he just stares at me with his serpent eyes, waiting for me to make the next move.

"I have done everything required of me on the Victory Tour and during my time in the Capitol," I tell him, almost convincing myself that I am as in control of myself and this conversation as I thought I was when I first arrived. "But I wasn't raised that way. I can't do it. I don't want to and I won't."

The president shakes his head. "That is a pity. Your most generous sponsor was hoping to celebrate your birthday with you and he will be so disappointed when I have to break the bad news to him. But never mind," he adds with a smile that makes my skin crawl. "That's enough of that. All this talk of sponsors and interviews reminds me of the programme I was watching on the television earlier. Why don't we watch a bit of it together?"

I don't see him move, but the next second the massive television screen I had noticed when I entered the office who knows how long ago flashes to life and I find my own face staring back at me. The picture starts to play, and when the camera pans out, I see the red dress I'm wearing sparkle in the spotlights and know that I'm watching my first interview.

"I can't wait to see my brother again," says my on-screen self, the volume on the television so loud that my voice fills the whole room.

"Tell me about your brother, Cashmere," says Caesar Flickerman. As I continue to stare at the screen I suddenly remember his words like I heard them yesterday. "I'm sure the ladies of the Capitol would love to meet him if there's any family resemblance between you. I'm sure a masculine version of you would have no shortage of admirers."

I know what I'm going to say already, and my racing heart sinks as I realise exactly why President Snow is showing me this footage.

"I love him more than anyone else in the world," says on-screen Cashmere at exactly the same time as I raise my eyes to meet the president's in real life.

"Gloss de Montfort," he says just as the image pauses. "Seventeen years old. Born exactly a year and a day after you, and you said it yourself, the person you love more than any other in the world. Your beloved little brother. I can only imagine what a personal tragedy it would be for you if something…unfortunate were to happen to him."

The picture on the screen changes to show Gloss walking down the stairs outside the front door of our house back in the District One Victor's Village. Despite what President Snow had said earlier about it being slightly warmer in my home district than it is in the Capitol, it looks bitterly cold there, and that is when I notice the coat my brother is wearing. He always felt the cold more than I did and that hasn't changed, so the first thing I did as soon as I got some time to myself after arriving here was to send him a fine fur-lined winter coat. That was two days ago. That means the footage I'm seeing now is recent, possibly even live. The president is watching my brother. The president can end my brother's life in a heartbeat. The president _will _end my brother's life in a heartbeat if I don't do exactly what he says.

"You indescribable bastard," I hiss, sinking every last bit of the fury I feel into that one short sentence.

He laughs that cruel laugh one last time before picking up the phone and telling whoever is on the other end of the line that I am ready to leave now.

I close my eyes as it finally sinks in that I was never going be allowed to leave this office without being forced to agree to… To what? What exactly have I consented to in order to save Gloss's life? Whatever and whoever President Snow wishes me to consent to, that's the truth, and my naivety won't save me, it won't even matter. He probably knew even that and got a better price for me because of it. I wrap my arms around myself but that doesn't stop me from shivering.

* * *

I am still shivering when I'm escorted from the president's mansion into the bright winter sun, and though the car is waiting where I left it, I pull my coat tightly around me and run as fast as I can down the road towards the Training Centre. Felix calls after me but I ignore him. I wouldn't want to speak to anyone even if I thought I would be capable of doing so, which I certainly don't. I don't want to speak to anyone ever again.

Only a couple of minutes pass before I am pushing through the massive glass doors to the Training Centre, and there must be something in my expression that makes people move out of my way, because my route to the lift is strangely unimpeded by the usual reporters, camera crews and hangers on who never seem to leave me alone.

When I get upstairs I race down the corridor, almost knocking Topaz flying as I throw the main door open. He also calls after me but I ignore him just like I ignored Felix, and I only stop running when I collapse to the floor behind the door of my bedroom. Then I swiftly get up again and move to the sitting room. After my little interview with the president, I suddenly can't bear to look at the bed.

The sun is starting to set and I have no more tears left to cry by the time I literally crawl over to the sofa and pull myself up onto it. My body aches from spending so long on the hard floor, but I barely notice the relief that the softness of the fabric covered padding gives. I don't know what to think. I am thinking so many things that I can't process any of them.

"Leave me alone," I growl in response to the soft knock at the door, my voice cracking because of all my crying.

I look across the room when I hear the knock again, and this time, though I say nothing, the handle slowly begins to turn.

"I mean it!"

The door swings open and Falco walks slowly into the room, deliberately holding his arms away from his sides with his palms raised, making as close to a gesture of submission I think I am ever likely to see from him. He stares unblinkingly at me in silence, seemingly totally lost for words.

"Just leave," I snap. "I have nothing to say to you or to anyone else."

"Cashmere-"

"Don't 'Cashmere' me, I don't want to hear it!"

I turn away because I am determined not to run to him for comfort this time, not when he knew about this all along and didn't say a word.

"Do you think I wanted any of this? Do you think it would be happening if I could do anything to stop it?"

"I don't know, do I?" I snarl, spinning on the chair to face him once more. "You certainly didn't think the fact that the president was planning to make me his new toy and hire me out to anyone willing to pay the price for the privilege as soon as I won the Games was important enough to tell me about, did you?"

"I-"

"Don't you dare try to tell me you didn't know. Snow told me you went to see him this morning so save your breath."

"I wasn't going to say that," he replies, his soft tone a complete contrast to my fierce and suddenly uncontrollable rage. "I did know about it. I won't lie to you and say I didn't, but I thought I could protect you from it. When I fell in love with you, I thought that my wealth and position would be enough to save you from all this. It was only this morning I found out that whatever I did was never going to be enough."

"And you didn't think to tell me before? You didn't think I had a right to know my fate?"

"I told you, I thought I'd be able to stop it so I didn't think you'd ever have to find out. It was stupid but I thought it was for the best. I came to really know you, Cashmere, and I realised very quickly that if I told you before the arena then you wouldn't have fought quite so hard to win. I loved you then as I love you now and I didn't want to lose you."

"So how many people know about President Snow's little _arrangement_?" I ask, spitting out the last word like poison. "You, obviously, because of your oh so powerful and influential position, which means most of the other government officials will know too. Then there's the wealthy and well-to-do of the rest of the city. I am going to be busy, aren't I? So, tell me, please, which of the other victors are victims of this? I know Lace isn't to your taste but how about Enobaria? You're a lot of things but you were never a coward, so I think you'd be brave enough," I continue, the combination of my all-consuming rage and the feeling of powerlessness taking over completely so I barely see Falco even though he is the only one I can take it out on.

For the first time in my memory, he just stands there and takes it, his eyes never leaving me for a second.

"Or were you waiting for me? Have you asked the president already? How much am I worth then? You can tell me."

"Please, Cashmere, stop this. I can't bear to fight with you."

Something about his words begins to break through the haze that clouds my mind, and when my eyes flick up to meet his, I see him clearly for the first time since he walked into the room. I'm scared. Terrified. Not of him but of the future, of what will happen tomorrow, of how truly powerless I actually am. It sounds ridiculous even to me, but I am more scared now than I was on that night before the hovercraft took me to the arena.

"Then we won't fight," I reply with forced softness, unfolding my legs from beneath me and turning to face him, leaning back on my hands. "I haven't got the energy to keep fighting so do what you like."

His eyes narrow and he stalks across the room, roughly pushing me against the back of the sofa, crushing me as I truly feel his entire weight holding me down for the first time. His face is millimetres from mine, so close that I can see all the different shades of brown in his eyes as I force myself to meet his gaze defiantly. Then he sighs deeply and pushes himself off me, almost falling onto the other side of the sofa.

"Do you really think so little of me that you think I would do that?" he whispers, his expression changing so quickly that I know immediately that the last couple of minutes were an act. "I know you're angry and scared, but if you really think me capable of half the things you said then it is best if I just leave."

"I don't know what I am anymore, Falco," I say quietly, my rage leaving me as quickly as it appeared to leave behind only fear and a kind of resignation. "All I know is that if I don't do what I'm told then everyone I love will die. Starting with Gloss. And that means I have no choice."

He says nothing, he simply looks at me, and I find everything I think I'm feeling reflected back at me in his eyes. I sit up slightly, edging towards him almost subconsciously, and he responds by reaching out and pulling me against him.

"I love you, Cashmere, but I have never been so helpless. Tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it, but everything I've thought of has failed. I have nothing left."

"There _is _nothing left. There is no choice."

"Falco!" shouts Felix from outside the door. "The phone was for you. Vespasian says he needs to see you now and it can't wait!"

"It's too late," breathes Falco as he pulls me even closer, not moving despite my stylist's words even though I have heard him talking of Vespasian, one of his fellow government officials, before.

"Go," I say reluctantly. "If you have to go then go. I'll still be here. It's not like I'm going anywhere even though I want to."

He sighs deeply and briefly looks away before slowly rising to his feet. "What are you going to do if I leave you?"

"Go upstairs and throw myself off the roof," I reply flatly, and although I can tell he knows I'm not being serious, he immediately sits back down. "Go," I continue, gently pushing him. "I'll still be here. I won't go anywhere near the roof, I promise."

"But-"

"You wanted to speak to Vespasian, didn't you? I'll still be here when you get back."

He stares at me for several minutes before finally backing towards the door, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I won't be long." I nod in response. "Don't go anywhere."

I nod again. "I won't."

Then he is gone, and I fall back into the armchair, tucking my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs.

All I can hear is the ticking of the clock on the sideboard, and after a while I begin to watch it as the second hand circles around and around, hypnotised by the elaborately engraved piece of metal. This time tomorrow I won't be here. This time tomorrow, I will be at President Snow's mansion pretending to leave willingly with whoever the president dictates so that the people I love are allowed to live.

* * *

The longer I stay here, the more my mind wanders in directions I really wish it wouldn't. Will he be young or old? Will I remember him from one of the many parties and banquets I have attended since I became a victor? Will he treat me gently or will he be cruel? Which would be worse? I can't decide. Will I be able to go through it with courage or will I cry like Elsah did during her final moments in the arena?

"No, Cashmere," I say to myself, my voice echoing around the empty room. "You won't cry, you won't fall apart, because if you do then Snow will have won. If you do then you won't be the only one who suffers."

I take a deep breath and sit upright, forcing myself to ignore the nagging voice in my mind that tells me it's very easy to think that now but that it won't be so easy tomorrow.

Pushing myself to my feet, I make a decision that is suddenly veryeasy. I put my coat on and quickly leave the Training Centre, ignoring the stares of the place's permanent residents as they watch me go. With my hood pulled firmly up and over my hair, I go first down one road and then another, sometimes doubling back on myself and going around in circles before eventually approaching the impossibly luxurious-looking apartment block that is my final destination. If I'm followed or observed then there's not a lot I can do about it, but I'm determined not to make it easy for them.

My heart is racing as I walk over to the main entrance and enter the first security code, hoping that I've remembered it correctly. I don't want to think about what might happen if I get it wrong. The door clicks open in time with my sigh of relief, and I step inside the massive hall, crossing swiftly to the lifts and entering a second code before pushing the button for the fourteenth floor.

I can't help smiling at the view that greets me when the lift doors slide across. The heart and mind of the Capitol might be ugly but it certainly has a beautiful face. I can see for miles, the brightly lit buildings appearing to go on forever.

I approach the window, and though I could never have been able to do it before, I can now look straight down at the floor even from this great height and feel no dizziness or fear. Was it the Games that changed me or the events of today? I suppose I will never know for sure.

The final key code opens the intricately carved mahogany door opposite me, and my heart races even faster as I turn away from the window to face it. I shake my head to clear my mind and then stride forwards. This is my choice, not Snow's. This is a decision I'm going to make for myself, for this first time at least.

The door makes no sound as I push it open, and the thick carpet silences my footsteps as I walk down the corridor. The only light is coming from a room to my right, and when I peer inside, I see him sitting at a desk, staring unseeingly at the computer screen in front of him.

"What are you doing here, Butterfly?" he whispers immediately, as if he sensed my presence before he saw me. Something about the way he's looking at me tells me that he already knows the answer to his own question, that tonight isn't like all of the nights before.

I've made up my mind, but when I hold his gaze, I'm suddenly completely and utterly speechless. What can I say to him? What can he say to me? I will do anything for the few people I love, and whether he truly knows it or not, he is one of them. I'd tell him that but I can't seem to find the words.

President Snow knows everything. That's how he's stayed in power for so long and probably how he got that power in the first place. What he doesn't know he guesses, or should I say works out, for Snow is a lot of things but stupid isn't one of them. If I don't do what he says then he will kill my brother. Or worse. He will kill the rest of my family too, including my vain and shallow and so precious mother, who loves me in the only way she is capable of. He will kill everyone I love here in the Capitol as well: Felix, Drusilla, Charis and Callista, they will all die if I don't do as I'm told.

I return my focus to Falco, and from the way he stares at me now, I know that he would die too. There might not be anything between us that the Capitol could prove, but when I think of every look we have exchanged, every time he's touched me as we talked, the way he fought for me from the Control Room when I was in the arena, it won't take Snow long to put the numbers together to get the answers he's looking for. He probably already has, especially after Falco panicked and went to his office to try to buy my freedom in the only way he could think of.

"Cashmere," he whispers, stepping towards me and then stopping a stride away, as if he fears to touch me.

It's like when I first found out about Astoria, back when I still thought she mattered or made a difference, and yet it's so horrifyingly different at the same time. I look down at myself so I don't have to meet his eyes, and only then do I notice how much I'm trembling.

"Falco…"

I step forwards and rest my shaking hands on his chest, directly over his heart, staring at the diamond and sapphire bracelet as it also trembles around my wrist. I don't know how to say what I want to say, probably because even though I know as much about the ways of men and women as the next person, I wasn't raised in a culture like that of the Capitol.

In District One, a young woman from my background should be ignorant of such things, at least beyond the commonplace charged banter that the man whose eyes I'm currently struggling to meet and I seem to excel at anyway, and that was one of my society's rules that I never had reason to break. Until now. I look up at him once more and I still can't find the words, but I try again anyway.

"Falco… I've never… I don't want whoever Snow sells me to to be the first man who…"

He raises his hand and places his forefinger over my lips to silence me. I pull away slightly, temporarily blinded by a flashback to what feels like my previous life. 'I beg of nobody, District Two,' I had said to Dahlia during training before the Games. 'Not even Falco?' Sheen had retorted before she could answer, and I still remember glaring in fierce denial in response. I guess I was wrong, because what is this if it isn't begging?

I turn away in shame and start to walk towards the door, but the brush of his hand against my arm stops me instantly.

"Nothing will change between us, Cashmere. I will still love you and I will never leave you. Not even if you want me to," he adds, with an almost passable attempt at his familiar smirk.

"You can't save me from this, Falco, because you can't save my brother, but don't leave me with nothing but unhappiness. Please."

"Not like this. Not because of Him."

"No," I whisper, reaching behind myself and pulling the clasp at the back of my dress apart so the shimmering fabric slips from my shoulders and pools on the floor at my feet. "Not because of Him. Because of you and me. Because it's what I want."

"Cashmere-"

"I love you, Falco, and I'll never regret it."

He pulls me towards him and I let him, leaning against him as he finally gives in to his feelings, touching me like he never has before. I shiver but not because I'm cold. I look into his eyes and push myself even closer to him, not knowing I could react like this, not realising it could be possible to feel so vulnerable and so powerful at the same time until now. When I feel like this, I feel like the Games, the Capitol and the president have never existed, and as Falco lifts me off my feet and carries me down the corridor, I close my eyes like I did that night before the arena, wishing with all my heart that time would stop and this night would never end.

* * *

It's still dark outside when I wake, and I sit up in bed to see the artificial brightness from the kitchen lights streaming in through the wide open bedroom door. The sound of the radio drifts down the corridor and I can hear Falco moving things around. Part of me wants to get up and see where he's gone, but the rest of me just waits, sitting there listening and trying not to think too hard about what dawn will bring.

After only a couple of minutes, I fall back down, trying to fight back even more tears. It feels like all I have done since I left District One to start my so-called Victory Tour is cry. I'm surprised I have any tears left.

I thought this would make it better, that it would give me a good memory to counteract the nightmare still to come. I was wrong. The knowledge that what is as close to perfect happiness as I will ever get is only going to last for a few short hours longer makes everything hurt even more.

Falco walks back into the room and sees my tears immediately. He puts the two mugs he was carrying down onto the ornately carved bedside table and lies back down beside me.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice shaking again. When did I become so weak?

"I have no idea what you think you've got to be sorry for," he replies, his almost smug expression causing me physical pain at the thought I might never see it again. For surely he won't look at me in the same way this time tomorrow.

Something about my own expression makes him serious again, and he pulls me tightly against him. Everything is silent apart from the music coming from the kitchen.

"I offered him everything I have and he still wouldn't take it," he whispers.

"You shouldn't have done that. Now he has one more person to use against me."

"Like he didn't already know," he replies bitterly. "He sees everything, you know that. The president has been part of my life since I was a small boy. I know the way his mind works. If I go to him again then he'll do something drastic just to prove he can. That puts Gloss at risk and I know what that would do to you."

"It doesn't matter," I tell him, my voice barely above a whisper as I finally tell him the whole truth of what I'm imagining. "You won't want me when I've been bought and sold like an animal anyway."

I hear his sharp intake of breath as he grasps my shoulders, pushing me back and leaning over me so all I can see is him. "Don't ever say that again! Don't even think it! Coriolanus Snow will never break us, Cashmere. Do you really think so little of me?"

My tears start to fall again, but this time he is there to kiss them away and temporarily banish all past and future nightmares from my head. The coffee goes cold on the bedside table as I wish morning would never come.


	6. Chapter 6

**_I never thought I'd say it but I am looking forward to writing the actual Hunger Games again because I know it will be more cheerful than this part of the story. I have a kind of love/hate relationship with this chapter (with special emphasis on the hate a lot of the time), and truthfully I don't think I'd have even started this at all if it wasn't so essential to the rest of the story. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is bear with me and things will start to look a bit more positive, I promise..._**

**_Also please remember what I said last chapter - this one earns every last bit of the rating it has. I didn't want to put it up higher but don't tell me I didn't warn you._**

Chapter Six

However hard I wish for the night to never end and for morning to never come, it feels like no time at all before I open my eyes to see the bright midday sun shining through the gap in the curtains. I turn away, burying my face in the pillows so I can't see it, but that doesn't mean I don't know it's there, that I don't know I can fight it no longer. I have no choice. I have to do this and the time has come.

I try to sit up, attempting to force myself to think of how the sooner I get it over with, the sooner I can be back on the train home, but Falco's arms tighten around me until I can't move.

"No, Cashmere. I can't do it. I can't let you go," he says, and something in his voice tells me that he has been awake for a lot longer than I have.

"You have to. There's no other way. I won't let him kill everyone I've ever loved."

"I love _you_, Cashmere. And you're not going anywhere because I love you too much to let this happen."

I push against him again, and once he realises I'm not trying to get up, he lets me spin around in his arms so I can look into his eyes.

"Do you want to die, Falco? Do you want Felix to die? Do you think I want to go back to District One to find an empty house because Gloss is dead?"

My voice steadily increases in volume as I speak and I can tell he knows I mean to go through with it. The pain in his eyes as he stares unblinkingly back at me is so great that I feel it too and soon have to look away.

It doesn't help that I'm shaking already and I haven't even left my lover's apartment yet. I dread to think what I'll be like when I have to actually go to Snow's mansion later. I'm a good actress but I'm not that good, and I can't help thinking that they'll probably have to carry me inside because I won't be able to stop trembling enough to walk.

I pull back again and this time Falco releases me slightly, allowing me to rise to my feet. Then he thinks better of it and pulls me back down.

"I'll be back. I need the bathroom and I need a cup of coffee," I tell him, just about managing a smile as I fit together the pieces of a plan in my mind.

He nods and lets me go, so I rush away before I change my mind. When I get in the bathroom, it doesn't take me long to find what I'm looking for.

The medicine cabinet is concealed behind a wall-mounted mirror, and I quickly take out a small glass bottle before pushing the mirror back into it's original place. I hold the bottle up to the light briefly before tucking it into my sleeve and heading down the corridor to the kitchen, knowing that I have no alternative, that doing this is the only way to keep those I love alive.

I mechanically make coffee and pour it into two mugs before forcing myself to pull the bottle free of my sleeve. If a propensity for unsubtle violence is a characteristic associated with those from District Two, then a more subtle approach is what the citizens of District One are known for. Sapphire, Gloss and I went to enough parties where seemingly healthy men and women dropped down dead for no apparent or obvious reason for me to grow up knowing that poison is the weapon of choice back home, so I don't know why I'm surprised that I thought of something like this. Especially as I've done it before, not with poison but with a sleeping drug, exactly the same one as I have in my hand now.

I take both mugs back to the bedroom and pass the one in my left hand to Falco. It's all I can do to make myself let go of it, and even when I do, I want nothing more than to snatch it back before he can drink from it. The part of me that isn't thinking about the lives of those I love wants nothing more than for him to stop me from leaving the safety of this apartment and it also feels terrible about abusing his trust like this. It hurts like Dahlia's knife did when he drinks without thinking or questioning, and I quickly curl up in his arms, resting my head on his chest so I don't have to see the pain in his eyes when he realises what I've done. When he does, it will be far too late for him to do anything to stop it.

* * *

It's starting to go dark before I find the strength to leave the warmth and safety of Falco's arms. He's still sleeping, as he will be for several hours yet, and he doesn't even stir when I get up. I dress and attempt to drag a brush through my now very tangled golden curls, my eyes never leaving the man I love. He'll be hurt and angry about this, I know he will, but I have no choice. There was no other way, and I keep telling myself that over and over again as I leave first the bedroom and then the apartment.

The letter I received from President Snow, which looked so much like an innocuous invitation to a party that merely glancing at it made me feel nauseous, politely suggested that I should visit my stylist at the Remake Centre before arriving at the mansion, so I walk the short distance there, pulling the hood of my coat as far forwards over my face as I can. The last thing I want now is some reporter thinking they will get something from me that will make the headlines in the morning.

I escape without being recognised, and all I can think of as I walk into the huge glass building is that I have no idea how I'm going to face Felix and pretend everything is normal and that this is just another party. When I arrive at his suite of rooms, it takes only one look to know that I won't have to pretend. He knows the truth. Falco must have told him.

"Cashmere, I…"

He trails off immediately, making it clear to me that he has no idea what to say. The way he looks surprised to see me at all tells me that he didn't think for a second that Falco would actually let me go through with it.

"Just get me ready, Felix," I snap, trying to keep all emotion from my voice. As ever, he sees through me immediately.

"Where's Falco?"

"At his apartment."

"What did you do?"

"How do you know I did anything? How do you even know I was there?"

"Because there's no way in Panem he would have let you go if you hadn't. And where else would you have been?"

"I drugged him so he went to sleep. He wanted to stop me and I wanted to let him. I had to do something or everyone will end up dead."

He stares at me silently, once again lost for words.

"Where's Drusilla? I thought she'd be here."

He shakes his head. "She doesn't know, and I don't think she'd help you if she did. She and the others would have a different view of this…situation to the one you have. They wouldn't understand what you're feeling."

"So they think it's alright for me to be bought and sold like an object? I thought they were better than that."

He shrugs his shoulders. "You know the way the world works, Cashmere. It isn't right but it's the way it is. Your bath's ready," he finishes, nodding towards what I know is a bathroom.

I shake my head. "I'm going like this. If whoever it is doesn't like it then they can find someone else to abuse."

He lowers his gaze and stares at the floor, and we stand in silence for what feels like forever. When he looks up, I can see unshed tears in his eyes and I know they mirror my own.

"You can't," he says in little more than a whisper. He crosses the room to the wardrobe and pulls out the first of many black garment bags that are lined up inside. "I've been told to dress you in this."

I take it from him and pull the zip down. It takes only the merest hint of red being revealed to tell me what I'm looking at, and my heart sinks even further as I let the bag fall to the floor so I'm holding my shimmering ruby and diamond interview dress.

When I see it, something inside me snaps, and I march over to the full length mirror, pulling first my coat and then my dress off and dropping them to the floor. I spin around to face my stylist and I can feel nothing but the anger that fills me entirely and contorts my face into a mask of rage and helpless fury.

"Why don't I just go like this?" I snarl. "That's what they want, isn't it? Why dress me up in an attempt to put a presentable cover on this whole sordid and disgusting reality?"

"I don't know what to say to you, Cashmere," he says softly. "I'm just as powerless as you are."

He gently lowers the dress over my head, and as much as I loved it when I first put it on, I hate it now.

"You don't have to say anything," I tell him, flopping down onto the chair he gestures towards, feeling more defeated than I ever did in the arena. "You could take the mirror away though. I don't want to look."

He does as I say and removes the mirror from the dressing table, putting it on the floor, facing the wall so I can't see even a hint of my reflection. Then he returns to me, squeezing my shoulder gently before painstakingly applying my make-up himself. I close my eyes so I don't have to look into his.

* * *

It's almost dark by the time I leave the Remake Centre. Felix suggested that he call Falco's apartment and see if the sleeping drug has worn off. I tell him that it won't have, that I made sure of it. Then I look at him and ask him if he seriously thinks we'd still be alone if my lover was no longer as drugged to oblivion as I had been when they first took me from the arena when I'd won the Games.

Felix shakes his head sadly and says nothing further, holding my coat out to me. I shake my head and pull a plain black one from the rail by the door. I don't want to wear anything I like tonight, I don't want it to be tarnished with this memory. With one final look back at my stylist, I take a deep breath and flee the room before what little remains of my courage deserts me.

* * *

The president's mansion looks much as it did two nights ago. The lights which line the garden path are the same, the music drifting through the open front doors is the same. It feels like the only thing that is different is me, and yet I have no choice but to fix a smile upon my face and keep walking.

The people who surround me are laughing and joking, waving to each other as they also make their way towards the vast house. They all look so happy, but now it is like I am looking at them for the first time. I wonder how many of them are truly happy and how many of them are pretending. I wonder how many of them are like me. Then I look around again and realise that there is nobody here tonight who is quite like me.

My coat is taken from me as soon as I reach the entrance hall. Subconsciously, my eyes drift to the massive staircase and the wooden door that is almost concealed behind it. Was it really only yesterday that I was escorted through it to meet the president? It feels like a lifetime ago.

I walk slowly into the banquet room, trying to ignore the way people stare at me, trying not to hear the way they whisper with their hands raised over their mouths when they see me in my interview dress. They must feel like the girl they remember seeing on the television almost constantly during the last Games has just stepped out of the screen to stand in front of them. How many of them think I'm simply here for the party? How many of them know the truth?

* * *

The banquet continues like any of the others I've been to. I haven't seen Snow yet, but for some reason I don't expect to. I'm glad in a way, because I can't help thinking that I'd forget myself if I did and then I wouldn't be the only one who would end up dead.

There is food everywhere but I don't eat a thing. I just stand in the corner of the room and watch everyone else. I don't want to look at them but something makes it impossible for me to tear my eyes away. I can't look at anyone in the room without thinking whether or not they could be the one who has hired me from a man who never owned me in the first place.

Here, as at all events I've attended since I won the Games, I am the centre of attraction, like some kind of exhibit at a gallery. I make no effort to seek people out and make conversation but I don't have to because they come to me. I smile and I laugh when I'm supposed to, I shake my head in commiseration if doing so is required, and if anyone notices that my mind is elsewhere, they say nothing. I laugh to myself at the thought of how my father would probably finally be proud of me if he could see me now.

This carries on for what feels like hours, and yet when the crowd begins to thin as people start to leave, I wish that they would all come back. I look down at the glass in my hand and see that I'm shaking uncontrollably, so I put it down on the table and fold my arms across my chest. It doesn't stop me from shaking but at least it makes it less obvious. I close my eyes but when I do, all I see is Falco, which only seems to make everything worse.

When I open my eyes again there is a man standing a short distance from me, watching me intently. At first glance he appears little older than Falco, although when I look more closely, I can see the telltale signs of surgery which are so common here but that my lover doesn't possess. His skin is tinted so it catches the light and appears golden. His eyes are almost yellow, more like a cat's eyes than a man's. He says nothing but he extends his right hand to me and I see it contains a single white rose.

I instinctively look away for a second, but then I force the image of Gloss's face into my mind. That is what makes me raise my head to meet his gaze as I rise to my feet and step towards him. I reach out and take the rose, clenching my hand around the stem so tightly that the thorns cut into my skin deep enough to draw blood. I can tell he notices but he still says nothing, he just grasps my elbow on my other side and pulls me towards the door. Unlike when I was in District Four, I cannot pull away. I have no choice but to follow.

"The president is a most generous host, don't you think?" he says as I feel the cold night air on my face and look longingly up at the same stars I imagine Gloss is also watching. "You look very beautiful in that dress, Cashmere," he continues, trying again when I remain resolutely silent. "I remember the first time you wore it."

"Don't," I tell him through gritted teeth, realising I have no choice but to speak and suddenly wanting to let some of my anger show while I still have the courage to. "Don't pretend we don't both know the truth of what's happening here."

"The truth is what President Snow has no doubt made perfectly clear to you," he replies, his voice hardening in a way that should be similar to how Falco's can but is somehow entirely different. "That there are consequences if you don't do as you're told."

I jerk my arm out of his grasp. "You'll get what you paid for. Nothing more and nothing less."

"I know that, Cashmere," he says, speaking in a low voice that makes me want to run away like the coward I promised myself I wouldn't be. "And I'm sure a beautiful girl like you knows what she's doing so I won't be disappointed."

"Didn't you pay what you did because you think I don't?" I snarl back, suddenly past caring about the pretence of compliance I'm sure I'm supposed to maintain as I turn away in total revulsion.

He laughs and takes my hand once more, turning my wrist around and studying it intently.

"Don't," I tell him, hating the pleading tone I hear as I pull back when he rubs his thumb over my butterfly tattoo.

He laughs again. I take a deep breath and force myself not to cry, hoping that he doesn't notice. However unwanted his touch, however disgusted I am by the feel of his skin on mine, the way he made that painfully familiar gesture reminded me so sharply of Falco that I almost think I could bear anything if he only didn't repeat it, if I don't come to associate my lover with this night of nightmares.

* * *

He pushes me back onto the bed and I glare back at him with as much accusation and fury as I can manage through my fear and disgust. I hope my eyes cut into him like Dahlia's knives, asking him how he can do this, how he isn't repulsed by his actions, but whether they do or not, I can't tell. There is no remorse in his yellow, feline eyes, only greed and hunger.

I close my eyes then, hoping that doing so will make this stop, sort of like waking from a horrific nightmare only in reverse, but he orders me to open them. 'They're beautiful,' he says. 'No surgeon or stylist can replicate that perfect blue.'

I open them but stare up at a fixed point on the ceiling, a disgustingly ostentatious light fitting with a small fortune in jewels suspended from it. The rubies are the same colour as the curtains around the bed in Falco's apartment, and for a brief second, the thought of him brings tears to my eyes. Then I realise that what is happening to me now might be a nightmare, but it is still distinctly separate from that other memory. Not even Snow can take that from me, so for an even briefer moment, I am glad.

I close my eyes again, quickly realising that by now their colour has long since ceased to be of importance, and think of anything I can that might distract me from reality. I remember Gloss as a child, chasing Sapphire and I across the park. I remember his fierce protectiveness of us as we all grew older. I can protect him now. I have to.

I remember the pride in Felix's hazel eyes that shone like a beacon every time he unveiled his latest creation. He says that he will never style for another tribute, that he's going to take the job the greatest fashion house in the city has offered him like I said he should. I hope he does. The more distance between him and me, the better, for him anyway.

Then I remember Falco, nothing specific, simply him. The way his eyes always find mine, however crowded the room, the way he sees me for who I really am and still loves me. He is more than I could have expected, more than I have the right to expect now, especially after what I did in the arena and what I have been forced to become now.

I bite my lip so I remain silent and make myself concentrate as hard as I can on the slight weight of the bracelet I couldn't bear to remove, trying to remember how I felt as Falco fastened it around my wrist. It almost works. It almost masks the pain I refuse to show I'm feeling. I bite so hard that it doesn't take long for me to taste blood in my mouth, but I refuse to give in. I will never give him the satisfaction of knowing I feel anything but hate.

I reluctantly open my eyes again when my hair is brushed back from my face. The voice in my ear whispers that I was worth everything he paid. The voice expects me to take that as a compliment. The tears I have been holding back for all these hours begin to fall silently down my face. They are unnoticed.

* * *

I wait until I can hear nothing but the steady breaths of sleep before sliding to my feet and fumbling in the almost darkness for my dress with my violently trembling hands. I put it on as quickly as I can and stumble to the door, blinking fresh tears from my eyes as pain shoots through my body and mind all over again.

I did what I had to. Snow has no reason to harm them now. 'Until the next time someone's willing to pay the price,' says the nagging voice in my head. I force myself to ignore it, not even bothering to put on my shoes before escaping onto the deserted street outside.

I don't know how I find my apartment but I manage it somehow, and I have barely closed the front door before I rip the dress from my body and throw it to the floor. I reach the bathroom and turn the shower on as high as it will go, heedless of the scorching hot water as I rub and scratch at my pale skin. I scratch hard enough to draw blood but I don't care, not when I can't forget what happened, not when I feel I will never be clean again.

I don't know how long I stay there, but it vaguely registers that steam fills the room, obscuring all of the mirrors. That is just before the knock on the door, which begins softly and then increases in volume and force until the part of my mind that is still capable of rational thought begins to wonder how it remains intact. Then it caves in, crashing into the wall with a deafening bang.

"Cashmere, I…"

The torrent of water suddenly stops and I am encircled by strong arms, arms that pull me from the shower to stand on the cold, stone-tiled floor. I stiffen and tense at the contact, yanking back with a violence I didn't think myself still capable of, but as soon as he releases me I fall forwards against him and let him hold me as if he is all that's stopping me from sinking. That's about the time I realise that he _is_ all that's stopping me from sinking.

* * *

The pale light of dawn is shining through the high window and we are still there, the powerful government minister from the Capitol and the powerless, naked and broken girl from the districts who has won nothing but pain despite how she is called a victor.

Falco rises to his feet and pulls me with him, staring at me with his almost-black eyes, silently promising that he won't let them break me. I didn't think I would believe him, and I'm still not totally convinced, but I'm convinced enough to let him try. Snow might have blackmailed and threatened me until he all but owns my body, but my mind is my own and as long as I remember that, he will never win. And as much as I'm hurting, as much as I remember what happened and shiver with disgust and loathing every time I close my eyes, I will never give him the satisfaction of knowing he's won. Never.

* * *

"Put this on," says Falco gently, holding out a white fleece robe to me.

I look blankly up at him for so long that eventually he closes the distance between us and helps me follow his suggestion, tying the belt tightly around my waist without his eyes leaving mine for a second.

"We can't stay in the bathroom all day, Butterfly," he continues, his arm hovering over mine as if he fears how I'll react if he touches me.

I nod slowly, trying to work out why it's taking me so long to process my thoughts, why I can't seem to think rationally enough to simply leave the room. I know that all I have to do is take a step forwards but I can't do it. I don't know why but I can't. I look up at Falco again and am suddenly lost in his gaze, which I quickly realise is a much better place to be than lost in my memories. That is what makes me reach out and grasp his arm, clinging to him as tightly as I did before.

We don't speak as he leads me slowly across the hall to the sitting room and pushes me onto the sofa. He turns to walk away but I don't let him, and eventually he gives up and sits down beside me. The sun has risen fully before I break the silence. Neither of us have moved.

"Can I go home today, Falco?" I ask him, unable to keep the pleadingly desperate tone from my voice even though I know he isn't the one making that decision. "I just want to go home."

"The train leaves at midday," he replies fiercely. "And you'll be on it if it's the last thing I do."

"Don't do anything stupid," I say, my concern for him temporarily making me almost forget everything else. "You've already risked too much."

"As I've been told," he replies bitterly.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

I narrow my eyes sharply, knowing when I'm being lied to. "The night before last you told me there would be no more lies. You promised me and I believed you, so don't prove me wrong."

"The president was merely reminding me that however useful I am, nobody is totally indispensable," he replies. "But I don't care. None of it really matters."

"It does!" I shout. "It does matter! He's already killed me inside and I couldn't bear it if he hurt you too! The world's never going to change, Falco, you know that as well as I do. There will always be other nights like last night because Snow always wins."

"For now," he answers, his voice surprisingly calm. "But not forever. This will not go on indefinitely."

"How can you say that?" I breathe. "There's been a Hunger Games for sixty-six years. Nobody can challenge Snow, not even you. He knows too much."

"It might be next year, it might be in five or ten or fifty years time, Cashmere, but this won't be forever. Do you trust me?"

"With my life," I reply. "Or what's left of it."

"Then believe me," he says. "Get dressed and walk out of here with your head held high like nothing happened. Don't let him see you fall, and maybe one day we'll both see him come crashing down."

I stare silently back at him, almost daring to believe him even though the logical part of my mind knows he's only creating a fantasy to stop me from falling apart, and it's watching him that makes my tears start to fall again.

"Cashmere?"

"But it didn't happen to you," I whisper, my voice barely audible even to my own ears. "I can't stop thinking about it, Falco. I can still feel his hands on me, I can still feel his body crushing mine. Every time I close my eyes I see the arena and I see that man and Snow. It all goes around and around in my head so fast that I think I'm going mad and I know it isn't ever going to stop. How long is it going to be before I'm called back here?"

"I don't know," he replies, pulling me against him so hard that I can barely breathe. "All I know is that I'd kill whoever it was who dared to touch you if I saw him, so don't ever tell me who it was unless we live in a very different reality."

"Then I will never tell," I say firmly. "And you must promise me that you'll never try to find out. If you kill for me then I'll never forgive you. Enough people have died because of me," I continue, pulling away from him slightly before deciding against it and resting my head on his chest again. How can I expect to look into his eyes and convince him of the truth behind my words when I know deep down that every one of them is a lie?

"I'll find out soon enough anyway, but I said there would be no more lies so I can't promise you he will come to no harm when I do."

"Then promise me that Gloss will never know what happened. I couldn't bear it if he did."

"You have my word that he won't hear it from me," he answers instantly.

Then he leans down to kiss me but hesitates when I pull away slightly, tears still streaming silently down my face. I lean forwards until my forehead rests against his as I trail my hands up and down his arms, my eyes never leaving his as I attempt to work out how to separate last night from this morning. He stares back at me, and eventually I see the decision he makes written all over his face. He pulls me closer, as if he's attempting to wash away my memories in a way the water from the shower couldn't manage.

For the first time in my memory, my first instinct is to push him away, but I refuse to let myself do that. If I do then Snow will truly have defeated me, and I already promised myself I will never let that happen. Then at some point I forget about the president, the Capitol and the Games. I feel almost as if I could forget my own name and suddenly nothing matters anymore. I welcome the oblivion.

* * *

I don't want to go outside. I realise this as the sun gradually gets brighter and brighter and it gets closer and closer to the time when I will have to face the cameras once again. I push myself tighter against Falco, so tightly that it hurts, but I don't care. I could stay here forever. When I'm here it feels like nothing bad will happen again, which is quite stupid really, considering where I am, but it's the way I feel and I can't help it. The light knock at the front door makes me jump but I don't move.

"No," I plead when Falco tries to push me away so he can answer it. "Don't."

"I haven't had time to develop a way to teleport you back to District One, Butterfly, so if you want to go home then you have to leave this apartment."

"I know," I reply, ignoring his teasing and still refusing to let him go.

"So I have to answer the door. It's only Felix."

"He knows. You told him."

"I had to talk to someone. I was going mad and he's not stupid. He knew there was something wrong."

"You could have talked to me," I say, knowing how impossible that would have been even as I say the words.

The knocking sounds again and this time I let Falco go. I pull my robe around me and tie the belt back in place, curling up into the smallest space possible at the corner of the sofa. A couple of minutes later my lover returns with my very uncertain looking stylist trailing behind him. We stare at each other for several minutes before I finally decide this can go on for no longer.

"Nobody's died, Felix," I say, trying to keep my tone light. "Although you might if I turn up at the train station in this robe."

He smiles gratefully in acknowledgement of the escape route I provided him with and raises the navy blue dress he had been carrying over his arm up so I can see it. I nod in response and push myself gingerly to my feet, forcing myself to keep moving until I am back by Falco's side.

"I'll wait here," says Felix, and I manage a half-smile of gratitude as Falco leads me from the room.

* * *

I say nothing as he pushes the robe from my shoulders and then pushes me gently under the shower, stopping me when I rub my skin too much and too hard. I can't help it. I know it won't wash away my memories but that doesn't mean I can stop myself.

After a few minutes, Falco replaces my robe and guides me to the hair dryer, still remaining silent.

"I'm sorry," I say, suddenly unable to deal with the quiet and unable to contain the thoughts that are racing around my mind. "You shouldn't have to do this for me. I'm weak and I'm sorry."

"Don't you dare say that again," he replies, his focus not on me as his expression hardens. "That man…that man raped you, Cashmere, and when I think about that I want to kill him-"

"You promised me you wouldn't," I say frantically, entwining my fingers in the fabric of his shirt. "You know what will happen if you do, and I couldn't bear it."

He shakes his head and pulls me forwards and tightly against him so my head is resting on my own hands. "Do you think I can bear the thought of your pain? Do you think I can look at Snow without wanting to cause him pain in return? If I could subject him to the worst torture imaginable for the rest of his natural life then I would still cause him less than a tenth of the pain he's caused this nation."

"Shh, Falco," I whisper. "Don't talk like that. It's not safe. Please."

He sighs deeply and pushes me far enough away so he can look into my eyes. "I'm taking you home. Right now."

"And then you're going to leave me again," I reply, taking the hand he offers and allowing him to lead me back towards where Felix is waiting. "I don't want you to go. Don't leave me. Please don't leave me."

"You know I have no choice, Butterfly. But I won't leave you until you're with Gloss again, I promise."

"Gloss can't know about what happened. You said you wouldn't tell him."

"I won't," he says softly, responding to the panic in my voice. "But maybe you should tell him. I hate the thought of you dealing with everything on your own when I'm not with you."

"I can't. He must never find out. I have to be strong for him."

"Then the first step is to get you home," he replies, giving me the impression that he doesn't agree with me but that he's playing along because it's what I want. "And like you said, I don't think it's fair on Felix for you to be seen out in that robe."

I manage a small smile and then follow him into the sitting room, taking a deep breath before walking over to Felix and allowing him to replace my robe with the navy blue dress he had brought with him. When I cross over to the mirror and stare at my reflection as I fasten every single button on the collar so only the skin of my face and hands shows, neither he nor Falco say a word.

* * *

Getting to the station wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. Falco arranged for me to be smuggled out of the back door of the Training Centre to the car, and then when we arrived, he walked on my one side and Felix walked on the other. I trembled the whole time, suddenly unwilling to face being the focus of the city's attention, but I survived somehow, and once we got on the train, Falco pushed me down the corridor and into one of the compartments before slamming the door firmly shut behind him. We didn't leave it at all during the journey, and I didn't leave the protection of his arms until Felix knocked on the door to tell us we've arrived.

As the train pulls into the District One station, I look out of the window to see Gloss waiting for me at the front of the vast crowd of reporters, camera crews and other miscellaneous onlookers. I don't understand why until I focus closely on my brother and see how uncomfortable he is. I doubt anyone but me would notice but I can tell he isn't happy, and as I see him shifting his weight from one foot to the other, I realise why. He has been told to stand where he is, probably by the Capitol people, who are sure to be desperate to witness another sibling reunion like they saw when I first returned home after winning the Games.

As Topaz throws the train doors open and the cameras begin to flash, I am determined to disappoint them by refusing to give them the headlines they want, but as soon as my feet touch the platform, they move of their own accord and I find myself sprinting over to Gloss and into his arms.

He pulls me close, as if he's attempting to shield me from everything that's happening around us, and I have to force myself not to cry. However even though I just about achieve that, I can't stop myself from shaking and I know he will notice.

"It's over now, Cash," he whispers as he strokes the back of my head gently, seemingly heedless of the shouts of the reporters who surround us. "You did it and you're back home."

I shake my head and bury my face in his jacket collar, allowing him to hold me so I don't have to confront our audience. My brother thinks I'm crying because of the Tour, which I am, but he thinks the _only _thing I'm crying about is the Tour.

"I've missed you," I whisper back, promising myself for what must be the hundredth time that he will never find out the truth. "Happy Birthday, little brother."

"Oh, Cashmere," he replies, obviously intending to continue but not knowing what else to say. He almost lifts me off my feet in his attempt to hug me even tighter.

It's not going to be easy. I know that because I've never kept anything from Gloss before. I've never needed to really, and on the rare occasion that I've tried, he's either seen through me instantly or I've quickly given in and told him whatever it was I was trying to conceal, but not this time. He will never know what happened to me when I went to the Capitol, and if it happens again then he will never know about that either. Snow might hold me prisoner, but I will never let him do the same to my brother.

* * *

**_I just wanted to say I was shocked in the best way possible by the reviews I got for the chapter before this. Thank you to everyone who commented - you made my day (well, if I'm honest then you made my week) :) Also thank you to those who read but don't review - I didn't realise quite how many of you there are out there until I very recently discovered the 'story traffic' page. It surprised me greatly and made me realise I'd have a very full inbox if everyone who read each story commented..._**


	7. Chapter 7

**_This is a little bit sooner than I thought it would be, but I'd written it so I thought I might as well post it - it's kind of a link chapter between the last couple and the next couple, but I like to think you'll forgive me the fluff considering the angst I wrote before ;)_**

**_The warning I had on the last two chapters still applies to this one (but not as much), so once again, don't tell me I didn't say anything..._**

Chapter Seven

At the time I had thought it would be impossible for my nightmares to get any worse than they were during those first few nights after I left the arena, but I was wrong. Then after my Victory Tour I thought that perhaps the ghosts of the Sixty-sixth Games would leave me and be replaced by a pair of yellow, feline eyes that I know I will never forget no matter how much I wish I could. I was wrong about that as well. What I got instead was all of my nightmares combined together, so I somehow see the arena, the Capitol and what happened to me there all at the same time.

That's why I'm sitting up in bed watching through the window as the sun slowly rises, pulling the blankets tightly around me as I wait for myself to stop shivering as I recover from yet another vision of my past that I can't seem to escape.

* * *

Four months passed before the president sent for me again. I received another invitation identical to that first one I had, and I knew what it meant without even having to pick it up off the kitchen table where Gloss had left it. If I'm honest with myself then I had been expecting it. I knew I was lucky to have been allowed to hide away at home for as long as I did. That didn't make it easier. If anything then it made it worse.

When I went to the Capitol that second time, it wasn't like before. There were no ceremonies to celebrate the Games or my victory, there were no fashion shows to distract me from the real reason I was there. I had to leave District One virtually as soon as I received the invitation and I was back home by the evening of the following day.

That day I returned, I told Gloss that I went because a reporter wanted to interview me and they couldn't leave the city. I told him the bruise on my face was there because I walked into a door. He didn't believe me. He still doesn't know what to believe. I can tell that just by looking at him, by looking at the way he looks at me. But that doesn't mean I can tell him the truth. The truth would cause him too much pain.

The last month has been even worse for me because I haven't seen Falco since the early hours of the morning I got on the train to return home. Gloss saw only what I couldn't conceal with my clothes and a massively thick layer of extortionately priced Capitol-made make-up, but it was Falco's apartment I stumbled to that night when it was finally all over. It was he who had lifted me off the floor when I couldn't quite make it from the lift to his front door, it was he who bathed and dressed my wounds and held me in his arms even after the sleep syrup he gave me rendered me unconscious. He still thinks I didn't feel and hear him cry as he held me. He's wrong.

A week later I received a Capitol newspaper, delivered to my house in the Victor's Village in a plain white envelope bearing just my name on the front, printed so there was no handwriting that could be recognised. I unfolded it to look at the front page and found myself staring into the eyes of he who gave me the cuts and bruises that were only just beginning to fade and the mental scars that never will.

My breath had caught in my throat when I read the headline and realised that I was looking at the man who would never do to another what he did to me. The man who had been found dead in his apartment by his Avox servant. The man who had apparently suffered a heart attack caused by an inherent weakness that had never previously been detected.

Gloss had walked in just as I was reading the article in the paper, and the first thing he did was tell me that Falco had left a message for me. My lover had said that he couldn't speak to me even though he wanted to, and also that he hopes I heard the tragic news. It didn't need Gloss to mimic what I'm sure was the tone of voice he heard through the phone line to confirm to me what I had known to be the truth as soon as I saw the newspaper. That monster's heart attack was not due to natural causes like the reporter who wrote the story believes. He had hurt me so Falco had hurt him. An eye for an eye, or so Corvinus told me they say in District Two. Despite what I said to my lover before, whether it makes me a bad person or not, I felt and still feel nothing but joy at the thought of my tormentor's fear and pain. I know the truth, and I know he deserved everything he got.

* * *

Several hours later, despite not having had the best of nights, I can't help but smile when I push open the kitchen door and walk into the bright and airy room. Gloss has thrown open the doors that lead to the garden so the sunlight streams in, and I can hear him moving things about in the storeroom.

"Gloss?"

"Good morning, sister dearest," he replies in an overly cheerful, singsong voice, lightly crossing the room and draping one of the fine lace tablecloths around my shoulders like a cape. "Or should I say 'good afternoon'?"

"It's not that late," I reply, trying to appear annoyed at him but somehow unable to stop myself from laughing. "I didn't sleep very well."

"I know," he says, suddenly a lot more serious. "I heard you screaming."

"I'm sorry I woke you," I reply, ducking my head in shame.

"Don't apologise, Cash. Talk to me instead."

"I can't."

"It's at times like this I miss Falco. You sleep better when he's here. Where is he anyway? Doesn't he realise that matters as important as Official Business demand his attention on a regular basis?"

I smile at what is now a long-standing joke between us and shrug my shoulders. "He's a busy man, Gloss. You know how important he is in the Capitol," I reply, trying to maintain my act and keep pretending that there's nothing wrong.

"Cashmere, talk to me," he says immediately, confirming that he can still see through me as easily as he ever could. "Please. Tell me what's wrong. I can't help you if you don't tell me."

"It's just everything. The next Games get closer every day and then it's going to begin all over again."

"It's not just that," he replies softly. "You haven't been the same since the Tour and you were worse again when you returned from the Capitol last time."

For the first time in my life, I wish I wasn't as close to my brother as I am, that he didn't know me as well as he does. Why does he have to be so perceptive? Why can I conceal nothing from him? What would I say if I told him the truth? I go to the Capitol and allow myself to be raped because if I don't then President Snow will kill you? I would never hurt him by telling him that even if it is the truth.

"At least one of the tributes I'm going to mentor will die, Gloss. Isn't that enough?" I snap, filling my voice with an anger I don't really feel because it's the only way I can think of to drive him away and protect him from the horrendousness of reality.

He looks at me sadly and I find it almost impossible to stop myself from hugging him and telling him how sorry I am for shouting. We might be brother and sister but we never shout at each other, we never have. We never had reason to before I won the Hunger Games.

"Strawberries," he says, his tone of voice telling me that he somehow knows I don't mean what I'm saying. "I'll go and get you some from the shop."

"I'd like that," I whisper, closing my eyes to stop my tears as he rises to his feet and leaves through the back door.

A couple of minutes later, I hear a knock at the door and I'm there before I have time to think. Only when I see the white-uniformed Peacekeeper does my mind catch up with my heart and tell me that if he had returned then Gloss would have just walked straight back into the house. And I know it's stupid but I recognise the way Falco knocks the door by now. He is the only other person I would want to see and I should have realised it wouldn't be him.

"This arrived for you from the Capitol."

I instinctively shrink back, expecting another gilt-edged party invitation, but see instead a green velvet box that suddenly reminds me of the one which had contained the bracelet I still wear around my left wrist. I haven't taken it off since Falco gave it to me that night.

"Thank you," I say stiffly, taking the box and closing the door in the Peacekeeper's face.

I know as soon as I open it that Falco didn't send it because it's a necklace. He'd never give me a necklace because he knows I'd never exchange the one that was my district token for another. The accompanying note confirms that, and my hands start trembling before I reach the end and see it's signed by yet another person who sponsored me in the arena. I can tell by the tone of the words that this person now feels like they own a part of me in a similar way to how they'd own a share in one of the fine horses the Capitolians love to race. I suppose in the eyes of people like him, it isn't so very different. I am just a district girl, a possession just like the race horses. I can't help wondering how far away from my asking price this one is, or what favour he's trying to do for the president so he has the right to ask one in return.

It is with a scream of uncontrolled rage that I fling both box and letter at the door as I sink to the floor crying floods of tears.

* * *

After what feels like all eternity and only a couple of minutes both at the same time, I manage to control my emotions enough to stop myself from crying. I take a deep breath and attempt to push myself up off the floor and to my feet, however a second later I sink down again and stop trying. That is why I am still curled up against one of the kitchen cupboards when there is another knock at the door.

I look in the direction of the sound, my vision blurred by my tears, but I make no move to respond. The last thing I want right now is company.

The knock sounds once more and then the handle turns and the door slowly swings open. My heart sinks a little further when I hear the sound of high-heeled shoes clicking on the marble floor, and a second later my sister appears, staring down at me with a strangely unreadable expression on her face.

"Save it, Satin," I say, speaking before she can. "Whatever you're going to say, you won't be able to make me feel worse than I do, so don't bother."

Her eyes narrow but she says nothing as she reaches down to pick up first the gold necklace with the ruby pendant and then the letter that accompanied it, her long dark hair falling forwards to cover her face. She raises her eyebrows when she reads it and then places both items on the table.

"I know you prefer sapphires, but this is an extreme reaction even for you, sister."

I glare up at her, mentally cringing at the thought of what I must look like, of how different I must be from the usual polished and immaculate version of myself that everyone but Gloss and Falco always sees.

"Get up off the floor, Cashmere," she continues, crossing the room to drag me up and onto one of the kitchen chairs.

Her words are as harsh as ever but the hands that lift me up are surprisingly gentle. I decide I must be imagining it, but when she sits down opposite me and waits for me to speak, her expression is fractionally less confrontational than normal.

"What do you want?"

"Before I saw the state of you, I wanted to borrow that diamond hair clip you had, but now I don't think you should be left on your own in case you do something even more stupid than normal. Where's Gloss? Where is the divine Mr Hazelwell?"

"I shouted at Gloss. I didn't want to but I had no choice," I tell her, before laughing humourlessly as I continue. "I shouted at him so he went out to get me some strawberries. And I haven't seen Falco for weeks."

"Did he finally get bored of you?"

"Of course not," I snap, wanting to say something further but somehow remaining unable to find words.

What can I say to her? The truth? That it isn't safe for him to see me until the people in the Capitol investigating the sudden death of the man who beat and raped me have closed their case, mostly because there's every chance that they'll put two and two together and work out the death wasn't as accidental as they originally thought if he does? Not that the vast majority of people know about what I willingly walked into to save my brother's life, but Snow knows. Snow always knows.

"Why else would you be crying on your kitchen floor?"

"You have no idea," I reply tiredly, startled to realise that I don't have the energy to argue with her anymore.

"Why don't you explain?"

"Why would I tell you? We despise each other, we always have."

"Since the day you were born, I've had every reason to hate you, Cashmere. How could I not when you had everything I could ever want but could never have had?"

"What?" I reply incredulously. "You are Father's heir. You had everything you could have wanted. You had the education, you had the freedom, you even had and still have his love, such as it is. Compared to you, I had nothing."

She shakes her head, and as I watch her, I realise that this conversation has been brewing for years, that every snide comment to leave our lips, every glare and every insult, have all been leading up to this.

"You had everything!" she shouts, raising her voice for the first time. "You had the run of the district when I was stuck in Father's study learning about the price of diamonds and the amount of tax we have to pay the Capitol! You had Gloss and Sapphire when I had nobody but myself. Whose bed was I supposed to crawl into when I had nightmares, Cashmere? Who did I have to rely on? Father? Don't make me laugh. He cares for me less than he cares for his stupid business and his wealth and fortune and he always will!"

"At least you have a future, Satin!" I shout back, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of my mind that's telling me she might have a point. "What did I have to choose between? A lifetime spent powerless and chained to someone like Miracle Lancaster or the Hunger Games? Being me really wasn't as fantastic as you think it was and it certainly isn't now!"

"You made your choice that day in the square. When you chose the Games you weren't in ignorance of what you were letting yourself in for, of what you would have to do to get home."

I laugh bitterly. "I might not have been in ignorance of that but there was so much more that I didn't know. I thought going to the Capitol would be a way of winning the freedom I never had before, but I had no idea."

"What's that supposed to mean? Look around you, little sister. You have everything. You have a brother who loves you, you have your own money, you have this massive house which was handed to you on a plate because of what you did in that arena. And don't think I don't know the truth about what's between you and Falco Hazelwell."

"All you see what they want you to see, Satin. You see the glory of victory, the wealth it brings. And don't bring Gloss into this because he's your brother too and he would love you if you let him."

"Then I ask you again, tell me the truth. Why are you sitting on your kitchen floor in floods of tears? Why are you shouting at Gloss for his own good? Why hasn't Falco been here? What is it you fear in the Capitol? Because that's what this is about, isn't it?"

"Why do you care?"

"I don't know," she replies. "Because there's still a small part of me that remembers we are sisters?"

"Or because you can't stand not knowing?" I reply sharply, refusing to let myself believe she doesn't have an ulterior motive.

She hisses at me and throws her hands up in surrender. "I tried, Cashmere! Don't you dare say that I didn't!"

I stare up at her as she jumps to her feet and pushes her chair in so forcefully that it slams into the table. After one final look at me, she spins on her heel and storms off towards the door. She's turning the handle before I manage to find the words that stop her leaving.

"The president sells me when I go to the Capitol. That's why I fear the letters. That's why I was crying on the kitchen floor."

She doesn't move for what feels like forever and I can clearly see the shock on her face when she finally faces me once more.

"How? You're a lot of things but you're not a whore, Cashmere. You never were, much to Father's disappointment a lot of the time."

"How do you think?" I retort, the bitterness creeping into my voice again.

"Gloss," she replies. "And Falco, probably. But not as much because he's too important."

I nod. I've never got on with my sister but she's an intelligent woman. I knew she'd work it out quickly enough.

"Since when?"

"The end of my Victory Tour was the first time. Then last month he did it again."

"You didn't walk into a door, did you?"

The look on my face must answer her question because she crosses the room and sits back down opposite me.

"We never got on, Cashmere, I don't have to tell you that, but I had no idea."

"I don't want your sympathy, Satin. I don't want anyone's pity."

"You have it, whether you want it or not," she replies. "You'll never have it because of the Games. I will always believe you made that choice and you should live with the consequences, but that…that's too much."

"Don't. I told you not to. I won't let you. Virtually every aspect of my life has changed since that day in the square. I barely know who I am anymore. If you start being nice and feeling sorry for me then I'll be even more confused."

"Nice?" she replies amusedly. "I'm not nice, little sister. I'm Satin de Montfort, and she is never nice."

I can't help laughing at that, and though she doesn't join in, she smiles slightly, getting up and squeezing my shoulders in an awkward but startlingly genuine gesture, intending to give me comfort rather than to cause me pain. I suspect I could count the number of times she's done that before on one hand.

"I'm sorry you're going to end up like me and never get the fairytale ending you wanted."

"Who says I didn't?" I reply, suddenly staring down at the table so I don't have to meet her eyes. "It just didn't last forever like I wished it would."

"Cashmere de Montfort!" she retorts immediately, pretending to be scandalised. "What would Father say?"

"He'd probably be happy," I reply, my tone considerably more serious than hers. "And besides, do you really think I still care?"

"No, but isn't he a bit old for you? What does a wealthy and powerful man from the Capitol see in a district girl like you?"

"And here was me thinking you'd decided to pretend we're capable of getting on."

"Don't change the subject and don't pretend you don't know what I mean."

"He doesn't look at me and see a nineteen year old district girl. Just like I don't look at him and see a twenty-six year old government official. When he looks at me, he sees Cashmere, and when I look at him, I see Falco. I love him and he loves me, and when I'm with him, nothing hurts as much as it does when he's not there."

She sits back down again and sighs. "It seems like we are destined to envy each other forever," she says eventually. "Next time you're hurting and crying on the kitchen floor, little sister, remember that nobody will ever look at me like Falco Hazelwell looks at you. Whatever life I make for myself, I will make on my own, because I refuse to be some idiot's quick and easy route to power and status."

"And that is why I envy you," I reply. "I envy you because you have the power to make that decision. That's a power I never had, and I want _you_ to remember _that_."

She looks at me unblinkingly and in our silence, all I can hear is the sound of the clock ticking. Then she shakes her head slowly.

"I'm leaving now," she says softly, almost to herself rather than to me. "You're starting to make sense to me, and that means it's time for me to go, before I lose any more of what's left of my sanity."

She turns and walks away, and despite everything, as I watch her retreating back, I feel slightly better. That is until I hear the sound of a key being fitted into the front door.

"Satin!" She spins around instantly. "Gloss doesn't know. Don't tell him. Please don't tell him."

She nods briefly before turning away again. She's gone before Gloss reaches the kitchen, leaving us both staring through the open doorway at the brightness of the morning sun.

When the shock of my sister's visit subsides enough for me to turn around to face my brother, I find him still standing in the doorway, looking tentatively at me as if he's unsure what kind of a reception he's going to get. I smile just as cautiously, hoping my eyes aren't too red and puffy.

"I heard Satin's voice," he says as he walks over and takes the seat at the table my sister vacated only seconds before. "What did she want? Has she been upsetting you again?"

"No," I reply. "For once she didn't set out to upset me."

"Don't lie to me, Cash. You've been crying."

"I'm always crying," I reply sadly. "It never achieves anything but I'm always crying."

He shakes his head, reaching across the table to take my hand but stopping when he sees the necklace and the letter.

"You could sell this and feed the families of everyone who works for Father for a month," he says, lifting the ruby necklace and twisting it around so it catches the light.

"Do it," I reply immediately. "Take it away."

"Who sent it?" he asks, reaching for the letter at the same time as me and narrowing his eyes when I get there first and pull it away from him.

"It doesn't matter. They're all the same to me."

He looks like he wants to say something further, to keep questioning me until I give in and tell him the truth he knows I'm keeping from him, but for the first time in my memory he doesn't. I stare at him when he gets up and walks around the table to stand beside me. He opens his arms and I rise to my feet, allowing him to hold me like he always did before. Like he did when the Sixty-sixth Hunger Games were just a vague dream of the future and the events that followed were too horrific for me to even imagine in a nightmare.

"Did you get taller?" I ask, suddenly deciding that this man who holds me firmly against him isn't quite the same Gloss I remember.

"Of course not," he replies, smiling down at me like he used to. "I'm eighteen, Cash. I don't think I'm going to grow any taller now. I've got stronger though," he continues, putting a hand on either side of my waist and lifting me up in the air.

"How come?" I ask when we both stop laughing, realising he speaks the truth as he slowly lowers me down like I weigh nothing.

"I've been sorting things out up at the workshop. I need something to occupy my time," he replies, his eyes not quite meeting mine, which makes me immediately suspicious.

I take a deep breath and prepare my first question, feeling slightly hypocritical but still wanting to know what he isn't telling me, however before I can speak, there is a knock at the door.

"Go on then, sister mine," says Gloss with a smug smile and a slightly relieved look in his eyes. "Answer the door."

Something about his smile makes me do as he says, and I slowly pull the door open, half expecting another Peacekeeper. My heart races even faster when I see the man I have seen nowhere but in my dreams for the past month. I stand there staring at him as if in a trance, still not convinced he's real.

He just manages to get into the house and close the door behind him before I throw myself into his arms. He kisses me like we've spent years apart rather than weeks and I barely hear Gloss when he tells me in a voice that's half amused and half resigned that he's going out.

"Gloss knew you were here," I say breathlessly.

"I saw him in the square. Final plans for the reaping," replies Falco, not releasing me for a second. "I've got to go back tomorrow."

"Then I won't think about tomorrow," I tell him, not protesting when he carries me out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

* * *

"You shouldn't have done what you did," I whisper many hours later. "I don't know how nobody suspected anything."

He sighs and continues to run his fingers through my hair so it fans out across his chest. I lift my head and shake it so my curls become a tangled mess once more. He growls at me and rolls me onto my back, staring unblinkingly down into my eyes.

"Don't try to distract me, Falco. I mean it. You can't just go around putting contracts out on people."

"He deserved worse for what he did to you," he whispers. Then his voice drops even lower as he leans down closer. "And there was no contract."

My eyes widen as the implications of his words sink in. "I didn't want you to become a killer for me."

"Fight for you, kill for you, die for you, it makes no difference as long as I can come here and call you mine."

"I love you," I breathe. "Whatever they do to me, I will always love you."

He opens his mouth to reply but can't seem to find words so he kisses me instead. By the time I'm able to focus on something other then him, it's dark outside and I decide it isn't worth getting up.

"Is the case really closed? Are you telling me the truth?"

"I promised you there would be no more lies," he replies sincerely. "It's over. If the president suspects anything then he doesn't care enough to do anything about it. I'll be coming back here for the reaping as planned."

"And then we'll be going to the Capitol together," I finish, shuddering at the thought of returning to the place that is now so full of bad memories and nightmares. It's going to happen again, I know it is, and that's what makes me tremble even as I lie in my lover's arms. That and the prospect of mentoring, which is another thought that never quite goes away.

"Together, Cashmere," he says firmly, almost as if he's reading my mind. "I can't shield you from mentoring, you know that. But I won't let anything…else happen to you."

"Don't lie to me. Don't try to give me hope when there isn't any. How can you stop it?"

"I'll find a way, you have my word."

I don't really believe him, but as he pulls me even closer and straightens the blankets so they cover us both, I allow myself to imagine that I do. I imagine a future where Snow no longer controls me, where the Hunger Games don't exist and there are no tributes, and though I know such a future can't exist, Falco's presence almost makes me feel as if it could. When exhaustion finally gets the better of me, for once my sleep is dreamless.

**_Thanks to those of you who reviewed before (and those who read but didn't) - your comments keep me posting :)_**

**_I also want to say 'hello' to SkyWriter9 and mention the 'Winter 2010 Hunger Games Fiction Awards' even though I'm being slightly hypocritical because I haven't had time to go and have a look at the forum page myself and therefore can't tell you any more than that. _**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

I spent most of my late childhood imagining myself as a Hunger Games Victor, but as I stand shakily on the stage in front of the huge crowd, I realise that I never once considered what it would truly feel like to be on the other side of the rope dividing that stage from those eligible to be reaped. I never thought about what it would feel like to be at least partly responsible for the lives of the boy and girl who win the race to be the next people sent from here to the Capitol.

I stare down at the people of my district, looking at the faces of those at the front of the crowd and wondering which two of them it will be who make it up the steps first. I turn to my right but Falco doesn't look at me. He gazes into the distance as the massive clock chimes and silence suddenly falls. Half-past eight in the morning. This is it. The reaping for the Sixty-seventh Hunger Games. Exactly a year since I was the one who made it to the stage first and found myself on my way to the Capitol. I was victorious and now I have to mentor someone else and hope they survive. But how can I mentor someone when I don't know what to do?

The anthem plays and the mayor makes his speech before eventually introducing Falco. He introduces himself and then my fellow mentor, a man by the name of Fortune who won the Games before I was even born, before finally announcing me. The crowd cheer then, and I fight my urge to back away. Hearing them cheer reminds me of being in the Capitol, and thoughts of that place makes me think of what happened last time, of what I will surely have to face again once I get on the tribute train and return there. I hadn't used to mind the cheering and the attention, but I hate it now.

Falco seems to sense my emotions, because he quickly steps forward and makes his way to the reaping balls, glancing at me briefly before swiftly looking away. He reaches his hand out towards the first one, a ritual movement that has always been the equivalent of firing a starting gun, one which starts the race to volunteer. This year is no different, and as soon as he moves, the people at the front of the roped area beneath the stage surge forwards.

I breathe a sigh of relief that it has finally begun and that this first stage of the process will soon all be over, but then I quickly stop breathing altogether when I look down once more to see the people racing towards the stage. There are two with a clear lead over the rest of the group, two boys who are almost men. One has the stereotypical District One blond hair, but the other is dark and immediately painfully familiar. How could he not be when I know him as well as I know myself?

I lift my hand to my mouth to stop myself from crying out and my breath leaves my body in shallow and rapid gasps. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. Gloss doesn't need to volunteer. He isn't going to volunteer. If he was then I would have known. He wouldn't have been able to hide something like that from me. Or would he? If I have been hiding the truth from him then there is nothing to say he wasn't doing the same to me.

They race towards the stage, matching each other stride for stride, and every time I think the other man is going to win, Gloss draws level with him again. Then suddenly the man tumbles to the floor as my usually quiet and gentle little brother barges him out of the way with a ferocity that would put many District Two tributes to shame. He doesn't even look back as he keeps running and his dark eyes never leave me, almost as if I am the one keeping him going.

"Gloss, no!" I shriek, unable to contain myself any longer. "Don't! Gloss, please!"

The people in the crowd who are close enough to see what's going on are totally silent as my brother sprints up the steps and onto the stage seconds before anyone else. He even has time to look expectantly at Falco in full view of the cameras, knowing that the whole of Panem will have seen him win the race, that my lover will have no choice but to raise his arm to the crowd to signify his victory.

I try to hold them back but I can't stop my tears from streaming down my face as I watch Falco grasp Gloss's wrist and present him to the crowd as District One's latest tribute. His eyes don't leave mine for a second and I know him well enough to realise he thinks I'm going to be angry with him, that I'm going to blame him for this. But how can I? Gloss gave him no choice. He made the decision, not Falco, and as I turn my attention to my brother, I see nothing but calm acceptance in his eyes.

I'm so stunned by what just happened, so totally unable to comprehend it, that I jump when I feel someone's arm brush against mine. I spin around to see a girl standing beside me. She's taller than me, her blonde hair is darker than mine, and she stares out into the crowd with an arrogant and superior expression on her face. I am the winner, she is saying to them, I am victorious and I will be again. That is about the time I realise who she is. This is our other tribute, the girl I didn't notice take to the stage even though I vaguely recognise her. This is the girl I am supposed to mentor, but how can I when one of her opponents is my brother?

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you your tributes for the Sixty-seventh Annual Hunger Games, Gloss de Montfort and Diamond Ferrers!"

Falco's voice rings out around the main square, catching almost unnoticeably as he says Gloss's name, and then the anthem begins to play. It's over before I know it and the girl called Diamond glares at me before she follows the Peacekeepers who have arrived to escort her to the Justice Building. I barely notice her as I push past the mayor to get to my brother, reaching out and grasping his hand tightly.

"I love you, Cashmere," he whispers as the Peacekeepers firmly lead him away.

I cling to his hand, refusing to let go even when another Peacekeeper steps in front of me to block my path. The man moves his hand towards mine and I am sharply reminded of the last person who laid a hand on me against my will even though he looks nothing like him.

"Don't touch me," I snarl, gripping Gloss's hand even tighter. My brother half turns back, trying to pull me with him, unwilling to let me go.

"You cannot go that way, Miss de Montfort," says the Peacekeeper, keeping his distance this time. "Mentors are not permitted to follow the tributes into the Justice Building. You must go to the cars by the foot of the stage and you will be taken to the train station."

"I'm not his mentor, I'm his sister."

"You are _a _mentor, Miss de Montfort, so you must leave now."

Another Peacekeeper steps forward to join his colleague and my brother is pulled away from me. I see nobody but him as they begin to escort him down the steps and towards the massive building behind us.

"Gloss!"

"It's alright, Cashmere. You'll see him again very soon."

The Peacekeepers suddenly fall back, looking away quickly and nervously, and I sense Falco's presence behind me before I hear his voice or feel his hands firmly grasp my elbows so I can't follow Gloss into the Justice Building.

"How can it be alright?" I hiss. "How can anything ever be alright again?"

* * *

The crowd at the train station is huge, and as used to camera flashes and the frantic calls of reporters as I am, even I am overwhelmed by the noise and chaos on the platform. As soon as I get out of the car and attempt to make my way towards the tribute train, they bombard me with questions, crowding in around me so much that I soon start to feel like I'm suffocating.

Everything they ask me is about Gloss. How do I feel about my brother becoming a tribute? Did I know he was going to volunteer? Did I tell him to volunteer? The list goes on and on, continuing for so long that in the end, a group of Peacekeepers has to fight their way through the crowd and escort me onto the train. I remain resolutely silent, not trusting my ability to stop myself from saying something I shouldn't.

When I finally step up onto the train, I immediately scan the cabin for my brother. He isn't there so I start to walk towards the next one. I throw the dividing door open so hard that it slams against the wall with a loud crash and find Falco and Fortune standing by the window, staring at the vast crowd gathered outside.

"Cashmere, I-"

"It's fine. There was nothing you could have done," I reply, not wanting to say too much in front of Fortune. "Where's my brother?"

"They're not here yet. The cars are on the way now. We'll be leaving in a few minutes."

I turn my attention to my fellow mentor when he answers my question instead of Falco, looking at him properly for the first time. He has the look of a once powerful man who has gone slightly to seed, and now I am this close to him, I can see that a lot of what looks like muscle when viewed from a distance isn't anywhere near as solid as he would have people believe. I don't know much about him, only that he spends a lot of time in the Capitol, apparently by choice, and that the majority of his conversation when he isn't there consists of him complaining that he isn't.

I take a deep breath and raise my eyes to meet his. "We have to swap tributes."

"What?" he replies incredulously. "You only won the Games last year. You can't just come along and expect someone like me to go along with such a massive breach of protocol-"

"I don't care about protocol," I interrupt. "If she's got any sense at all then that girl won't care who mentors her as long as it isn't me, and if you think I trust anyone else with my brother then you're out of your mind."

"But that isn't the way things are done," says Fortune weakly, perhaps sensing that protesting is futile.

"You will still be Gloss's mentor on paper and I will be Diamond's, but I will mentor my brother and there is nothing you can do about it."

"Cashmere," he replies, looking nervously behind me at Falco as if he fears the consequences of saying to much in front of him.

"I will mentor my brother," I repeat, speaking at the same time that the volume of noise emanating from the people on the platform increases so dramatically that I know Gloss is here without having to turn and look for him.

I spin on my heel and return to the cabin next door in time to see Gloss and Diamond stumble inside. My brother quickly turns and slams the entrance door shut, drowning out the incessant shouts of the reporters.

"You should go and introduce yourself to Fortune," I begin, addressing Diamond and not allowing myself to meet Gloss's eyes. "He will be your mentor."

"Good," she says, tossing her head back so her hair swirls around as she stalks out of the room.

I say nothing further as I stride forwards, grabbing a fistful of the back of Gloss's shirt and pushing him ahead of me in the opposite direction, ignoring the fact he towers over me and is vastly stronger, not letting him stop until we reach the dining room where I have spent most of my own train journeys this past year.

"For Panem's sake, Gloss! Why?" I shout as soon as I've slid the door closed, rounding on him instantly. "What were you thinking?"

"I won't let you keep me for the rest of my life, Cashmere," he replies instantly. "I'm a grown man not a little boy."

"Tell me the truth!" I scream, not caring who can hear me. "I know when you're lying to me, Gloss de Montfort, and you're lying to me now!"

"Just like you've been lying to me for the past six months." he retorts, his voice as annoyingly calm as ever despite the situation. "Do you think I haven't noticed? Do you think you can hide things from me any more than I can hide them from you?"

"Do you think it's easy to win the Games? How do you think you're going to win? You haven't done any training for over a year!" I shout, but even as I do, I abruptly realise what I'm saying isn't true.

He stares down at me without replying and I stare back at him. I should have guessed. Why didn't I see it before? Why didn't I remember to question him further after that day Falco came to see me and I noticed how different my brother seemed? Why didn't I question where he went when he left the house without me? Why have I never really noticed how tight the fabric of his shirts has got around his chest and upper arms?

"Why?" I whisper, my anger abruptly departing and leaving nothing but fear for the person I love most in the world. "Why do it when you don't have to?"

He steps forward and pulls me against him. "Because they take you where I can't follow and they hurt you. I don't understand how or why but they do. I'm doing what I have to so I can follow you and stop them."

I jerk away, my eyes meeting his once more as I begin to pace around the train carriage.

"No, Gloss, no," I plead, reaching up and clenching my hands around fistfuls of my hair, pulling hard in the hope that the pain will distract me from what I just heard my brother say. "Don't tell me you did this because of me. Please, don't…"

"I can't think of a better reason," he replies, walking over to me and hugging me again, refusing to let me pull back this time.

"But you could die. Do you think I could keep living if I didn't have you with me? Do you think I can bear the thought of you being in pain? Imagine what could happen to you in the arena," I continue frantically as I do just that, the reality of what has happened starting to truly set in and making me clutch at him as if I can somehow turn back time so he didn't win the race to volunteer.

"You didn't die, Cash," he says flatly.

"I got lucky and we both know it," I retort, "and trust me, life after the Games isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"There you go again," he cries, finally losing his self-control. "You tell me how awful it is, and even if you didn't, your body language and the change in you would tell me the truth, but you never explain why. You can now. There is nothing left for you to protect me from, so tell me."

"You don't want to know," I whisper eventually.

"Yes, I do," he says firmly. "What happens in the Capitol, Cashmere? Why do you fear even the mention of the place?"

"Because…because…Gloss, I can't…"

My voice trails off and I can feel myself trembling as he guides me to the sofa, the very same one I sat on last time I was on this train. The thought of my last journey to the Capitol only makes me tremble more.

"You can," he says. "Start with your Victory Tour. Or should I say, start with your visit to the Capitol, because the Cashmere I spoke to on the phone a couple of days before you left there wasn't the same Cashmere who came back to District One. And don't tell me it was because of the arena and how the Tour brought it all back because you know I won't believe you. I didn't believe you when you said it then and after the same thing happened two months ago, I certainly don't believe you now. Tell me the truth."

"How did you know?" I ask, my voice unsteady and my vision blurred with tears. "I tried so hard not to let you see."

"You can't fool me, Cashy," he replies with a sad smile. "I'm your brother."

"It's…it's President Snow. He told me I had to do what he said. I had to."

"And what did he say you had to do?" he asks, the tightness of his expression telling me he doesn't like the way this is going.

"He sells me, Gloss. He sells my body to anyone who can afford me, and I'm not the only one."

"But… No… Cashmere, no… How? Why do you let him? How can you stand it?"

I sit forward and put my hands on either side of his face. "Because if I don't then he'll kill you."

"Then you should have let him kill me," he replies instantly, his shock making him try to pull back. I don't let him.

"I love you, little brother. Compared to that, nothing else matters."

I reach up and drape my arm across his broad shoulders, and he pushes himself across on the sofa so he can lean down against me despite our height difference, for once letting me hold him instead of the other way around.

"It should matter," he replies, twisting one of the buttons on my jacket around and around so much that I half expect it to come loose despite Charis's formidably strong needlework. "And now I regret what I did even less."

"Don't you understand? This isn't one of Father's parties with his sleazy business associates. We can't glare at them until they go away. You can't stop this, Gloss. If you win then he'll do the same to you and there's nothing either of us can do about it."

"It doesn't matter about me," he says, relinquishing his grip on my jacket button and exchanging it for my wrist, turning my hand over and touching the tip of his finger to my tattoo like he used to when I was nine and he was eight. "But the thought of someone forcing you…" He shakes his head. "I can't bear it, Cash. And even before I knew the truth, I couldn't bear to see you slip further and further away from me every day. I had to do something and this was the only way I could think of."

I pull him closer, hating the tiny part of myself that is glad he's here and that for a few days at least, I will have him with me when I didn't expect to. "You do realise that I'll never forgive you if you lose, don't you?" I say with mock-sternness, not seeing the point of shouting at him when neither of us can go back and change what he did.

"I'm not going to lose," he replies immediately. "You and Falco are going to keep my alive from the Control Room and I'm going to make those pathetic women from the Other World want me more than they wanted Finnick Odair. And while we're all doing that, I'll think of a way to keep you in District One so you only ever have to see the Capitol on the television."

Despite the situation, I can't help laughing at the very idea of my borderline sociopathic little brother going out of his way to seduce the female population of the Capitol, even if, when I look at him objectively rather than as my sibling, I can see he is good-looking enough to do so.

"Should I call District Four and tell them they have competition?" I tease, feeling more relaxed with him than I have for months now I've finally been able to tell him the truth.

"If you like," he replies, sighing and putting his arms around me. "I'll hate every second of it but I'm not going to achieve much if I die."

"You're not going to die," I tell him firmly, and neither of us speaks after that.

* * *

We're still sitting in the same position when there is a knock at the door and Falco peers almost tentatively into the room.

"Is it safe for me to come in?"

"I expect so," replies my brother as he sits up. "She's terrifying when she's mad and I doubt I've heard the last of this yet, but at least she's stopped shouting."

"I am here, you know," I retort, hitting his shoulder with no real venom. "And what did you expect? I thought I was surprisingly calm, considering what you've done."

Falco looks from me to Gloss and back to me again, smiling slightly. "The Reaping Review's going to start in a minute."

"I'll see you in a minute then," replies Gloss, pushing me back down onto the sofa as he rises to his feet and leaves the room, somehow going in the direction of the television room even though I can't see how he could possibly know where it is. I've always envied his sense of direction.

"How are you feeling?" asks Falco as soon as the door closes behind my brother, ducking his head slightly as if he's ashamed of his question.

"How do you think?" I reply softly. "What if he dies? What if I have to watch him die like I had to watch Odair kill Sapphire?"

He walks towards me, but instead of sitting down like I thought he would, he takes my hand and pulls me up.

"I can't promise you that he'll live, Butterfly, but I can promise that I'll do everything I can to save him and I know you will too. Between us and him, I think we've a better chance than most of making sure he sees District One again."

"Did you know?" I ask, going cold as the thought that my brother and my lover were in this together suddenly occurs to me. "Did you? Did he tell you?"

"No," he replies instantly, his eyes never leaving mine. "I had no idea."

I smile sadly, seeing the truth of his words instantly. "I'm sorry, I just thought…"

"I told you I'd never let anyone hurt you again," he says. "Do you really think my plan to do that would involve putting Gloss in the arena?"

I shake my head. "I had to ask. I had to be sure."

"I know," he replies, taking my hand and leading me from the room.

* * *

As I slowly turn the handle of the door to the television room and look inside, I half expect to see Lace and Topaz gazing back at me, to see Sheen glaring at Falco and I with the suspicious eyes I usually saw. Seeing Fortune and Diamond perched on adjacent armchairs and my brother leaning back on a sofa that I don't remember ever being there, keeping as much distance from his district partner and the man who is supposed to be his mentor as possible, is almost a surprise to me even though it shouldn't be.

I cross over to the sofa and flop down by Gloss's side, watching as he slices an apple into two pieces and then taking the largest piece when he offers it to me, all without saying a word. Falco follows me and sits down on my other side, switching the television on as he passes. I can't even bear to watch the replay of my brother racing towards the District One stage, and I try to block out the sound of my own voice as I scream his name in anguish.

"I'm looking forward to seeing the Capitol," says Diamond as our district's reaping plays on in the background. "For a long time to come."

Not if I can help it, I think to myself, looking across at the girl and suddenly realising she seems familiar because both my brother and I have seen her before at parties. With a name like 'Ferrers', I should have guessed. Her family are not as wealthy as mine, but they are rich enough and important enough to be well-known on the District One social circuit. I wonder what she thinks she's running from? I wonder if she has any idea of what she thinks she's running to? I'm almost certain she doesn't. If she did then she'd have stayed where she was. Then she wouldn't have to die so my brother can live.

"Cashmere?"

Falco's voice startles me back to reality and I refocus my attention on him immediately. Gloss squeezes my hand and I turn back to him, not knowing which way to look, knowing only that I don't want to look at the television. It was one thing watching my own opposition, but I instinctively understand that seeing Gloss's will be even harder for me to deal with.

"Sorry," I reply quietly, trying not to attract the attention of Fortune and Diamond.

"Three pairs of eyes are better than two," says my lover, keeping his voice just as low.

"Don't worry about it, Falco," interrupts Gloss. "I'll see them in training soon enough and I wasn't planning on looking for allies anyway."

Now he has my full attention. "What do you mean?" I ask, forgetting to whisper and making everyone in the room turn to look at me.

"What I said," replies my brother. "I don't think I want the Alliance."

"We'll see," I tell him in response, knowing that we need to focus on the television but at the same time not wanting him to think I'm going to let his comment drop.

"Since when have I done what you've told me to do, sister mine?"

He smirks in the same way he's done for as long as I can remember, spinning around on the sofa to pull me down and try to push me to the floor. He almost manages it, mostly because I didn't expect him to be relaxed enough to behave like that, but I quickly fight back, just like I always did when we were children.

It feels so strange to be going to the Capitol with him. I don't like it, I can't stop thinking about the reality of what might happen to him, but I can tell merely by looking at him that he's been thinking about this for a long time. He's accepted it in typical Gloss-fashion, exactly like he does most things, and most of me loves him for it even though I don't pretend to understand.

"Children, please," says Falco, pretending to be annoyed but remaining unable to hide his amusement from me.

Gloss sits up and pulls me with him, and I immediately smile my best fake Capitol-smile at Fortune and Diamond, slightly embarrassed that I let them see the real Cashmere rather than the Cashmere they are supposed to see. My expression seems to confuse them even further, so I decide to quit while I'm ahead and quickly look back at the television to see the beginning of District Two's reaping.

I know I should concentrate on the people who will go into the arena with Gloss, and I do try, but it's so difficult. I can't look at them without remembering my own arena, and this time when the memories come flooding back, it isn't myself I see but my brother. Even though logic tells me that his arena is going to be nothing like mine, for some reason I see him trapped inside the cold and dark warehouse that was my prison. I see him fighting for his life, I see him locked inside a room as the walls close in on him, I hear myself screaming and only when I hear him calling my name do I realise that I was screaming in reality as well.

"It takes time for the memories to fade for some," says Fortune to Falco as my breathing gradually returns to normal.

"I'm sure it does," he replies, somehow exaggerating his Capitolian accent that is usually so slight I don't notice it.

I open my mouth to shout at him for talking about me like that and as if I'm not sitting beside him, but then I remember that he's still performing for our audience, just like I should be doing. Fortune doesn't know and cannot know about our relationship and neither can Diamond, and I'm immediately furious with myself for forgetting that, even if it was only for a short time.

"No surprises there, I don't think," says Falco, obviously trying to steer the conversation in a safer direction.

"Not really," I reply, feeling somehow relieved that none of the people who took to the stage resemble those who were my opponents last year.

I let the others do the talking then, watching the screen intently as the names, ages and districts of all the tributes are recapped yet again. I dismiss most of them as not being a threat to my brother, but there are a few I remember.

The two tributes on the District Two stage are strikingly similar in colouring to Corvinus, Dahlia and virtually all of the others to leave their district on the tribute train before them, but I know as soon as I see them that they are nothing like the man and woman I remember. The man has an arrogant sneer on his face that seems to be his default expression, because as I watch him it never fades. The look in his eyes is vicious. He looks nothing like my ally, and I am glad.

Their female tribute seems nothing like the girl who nearly killed me either. The only real thought that crosses my mind when I see her is that she isn't Astraea. I look for Corvinus's wife in the crowd when the camera pans out around the square and I smile to myself when I see her there. She is on the screen for less than a second, but it's long enough to tell me that she survived the bizarre ritual both she and the man who was her husband called the 'reaping trials'. I smile even more when I see her expression is still as quietly defiant as I remember it.

District Four look strong as well, neither more so than the other in their own way, and there is something about the calm and intelligent expression on the face of the young girl from District Five that makes her linger in my memory. The man chosen in Six is tall and strong considering his place of birth, but I find it hard to count him as a threat when I know he'll have had no training. I'm still thinking of District Two and District Four when the tiny and pathetic-looking boy from Twelve's image fades from the screen and the closing credits of the programme begin to flash by.

"It could have been worse," says Gloss in a low voice, finally interrupting the anthem that is currently blaring out of the television.

"It could?" I reply, failing to see the funny side when I can't stop thinking of how he's a Hunger Games tribute and he could be dead in a matter of days.

"It could have been like the Sixtieth," he says, his tone suddenly as serious as mine as he refers to the Games that Enobaria won, the Games that involved far too many strong and highly trained tributes for anyone with even a single brain cell to consider it coincidental. "At least it looks like a regular reaping."

"It isn't a regular reaping because you were in it," I whisper, feeling tears forming in my eyes again.

I move quickly towards Gloss and push myself under his arm, clinging to him tightly with no regard for Diamond and Fortune's presence. This is the Hunger Games and it isn't predictable. Every one of the twenty-three people I have just seen on screen will be trying to kill my brother because doing so is the only way they can survive. I love him so much that the thought of seeing him die causes me physical pain, and I hold on to him as if I'm attempting to convince myself that doing so will stop them from taking him from me.

"Cashmere?" he says.

"Yes, Gloss?" I manage, trying to stop my voice from trembling for his sake.

"I need to ask you something and I need you to tell me the truth."

"What?"

"I need you to tell me exactly how ridiculous my stylist is going to make me look tomorrow."

I don't know whether to laugh or hit him, so eventually I settle for doing both, but despite that he still sits there staring at me, a smile slowly appearing on his face.

"That's better," he says. "I don't want you to be sad. I made my choice and I'll never leave you, I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, little brother."

"I won't," he replies immediately, reaching out and pulling me closer again just as first Fortune and then Diamond leave the room.

The door closes behind the tribute girl I would have been mentoring, and as soon as it does, Falco shifts closer to me, putting his finger to his lips to tell me to be silent. I know it's because he thinks someone somewhere is listening in, so I decide to keep my questions until we get to the Capitol. He nods and then drapes his arm over my hip, pulling on the stitching at the hem of my skirt in a way that would terrify Felix until I glare at him and he falls still.

I shuffle around so I'm equally close to my brother and my lover and then I finally let my eyes drift closed. As I fall asleep I try not to think too much, hating myself because of what I'm feeling. I know I should feel fear for my brother and fear because of where we're going, and I do. But if I'm honest with myself then what I feel more than anything is relief that I'm not alone. In a way I despise myself for that.

_**Thank you to everyone who reviewed last time (I think I got around to replying to you all but apologies if I didn't - Christmas is close enough to be taking over now and I've spent most of the day wrapping presents :)). I love reviews as much as everyone else on here, so if you're reading then let me know what you think ;) **_


	9. Chapter 9

**_Not much of an author's note this time, I just want to say Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to everyone out there who's reading this :) You're probably all too busy celebrating to read and review this one, but I'd written it so I thought I might as well post..._**

_**Sorry if you reviewed Chapter 8 and I didn't reply - Christmas kind of took over so I know I missed a few!**_

Chapter Nine

"Cash, is that you?"

"Were you expecting someone else?" I reply amusedly, smiling at the way my brother's voice isn't quite as certain and confident as it usually is.

He peers around the screen that stands in the far corner of the small remake room and smiles back once he sees me.

"I almost thought you were Lucretia coming back to inflict yet another method of torture upon me, but then I realised she would be making a lot more noise."

I laugh as I remember the woman who styled Sheen last year. Unlike Felix, she is still styling for the Games, and even though I haven't seen her yet, I can already imagine how happy she would have been when my brother made it to the stage first yesterday. Last year her tribute was eclipsed by his district partner, and I'm not being arrogant to think that because it was the truth, but this year her tribute is already the centre of attention. She will be overjoyed right now, and I can almost sense that simply from being in the room, by seeing the samples of luxurious fabrics that surround me, the newspapers that are strewn across the table, all of which show the same photograph of my brother and I as we arrived in the city last night.

"So let me have a look at you then," I say, knowing Lucretia will have gone all out this year and hoping that she hasn't got it wrong.

Gloss steps out from behind the screen with a thoroughly peeved expression on his face, which doesn't surprise me in the slightest. Back when Sapphire was alive and we all imagined ourselves victors, I always knew my brother would hate this part of the process, and though so much has changed since then, my opinion on that is the same as it always was.

"Say something then," he instructs, rolling his eyes at the room in general.

I stare back at him, not knowing quite what to say. He's wearing a pair of plain black trousers, shoes that shine so much I imagine I could use them as a mirror, and some kind of black cloak that is covered in every jewel I can think of and a few more besides. When he walks closer it billows behind him and I notice it even has jewels on the inside as well.

"Cashmere," he adds warningly when I still say nothing.

"It could have been a lot worse," I manage eventually. "Think yourself lucky you aren't covered in gold body paint."

"You looked good," he replies, sounding more like the Gloss I know. "And you do realise I'm going to die of hypothermia before I get to the Training Centre, don't you? She could at least have given me a shirt."

"Lucretia's not stupid, Gloss," I say, attempting to look at him through Capitolian eyes rather than through my own at the same time as I desperately try not to laugh at the scowl on his face. "She's giving the mob what they want. It could work to your advantage," I continue, refusing to think about the potential consequences that having sponsors will have if, I mean when, he wins.

"Dying of hypothermia?" he replies grumpily.

I hit his arm and shake my head with mock seriousness. "You know what I meant. And I'll never forgive you if you don't find out where they take that cloak after the ceremony because if you don't want it then I do."

As I hoped, he laughs, reaching up to his throat to unfasten the clasp. He takes the cloak off and swings it around my shoulders. "It suits you better than it suits me even if it does drag on the floor," he says, smiling softly.

I smile back and try to take it off before someone else comes in, but from the voice I hear behind me, I know immediately that I'm too late.

"Gloss de Montfort, I'm dressing you not your sister. You were supposed to be downstairs five minutes ago."

"Hello, Lucretia," I say politely, taking in the woman's garish suit and equally garish manner and feeling more grateful than I can say that Felix was my stylist not her.

"Cashmere," she replies in acknowledgement, nodding her head in my direction as she sweeps towards us, presumably with the intention of reuniting her creation with the person who's actually supposed to be wearing it.

I beat her to it, standing on my tiptoes as I attempt to drape the cloak across Gloss's shoulders, but I still can't quite reach so he takes it from me. With one final smile, he turns away and walks towards the door, his stylist following him.

"I'll see you when it's over," he calls back.

"I'll be waiting," I shout back, but I instinctively know he's already gone and that I'm talking to myself.

* * *

Almost as soon as my brother leaves, a very familiar face appears to take his place, peering around the door and looking very much as if she's surprised to see me. When she gets over her shock she very quickly bounds into the room and throws herself at me.

"I've missed you! That new girl doesn't talk to us like you did," gasps a slightly breathless Charis when she finally releases me. "And she isn't beautiful like you are."

"Don't be like that," I tell her. "Diamond is probably just nervous about the parade. She'll get used to everything soon enough."

And by that time I'll be watching her from the Control Room and hoping she will fall because my brother can only live if she dies, I think to myself, but I don't tell Charis that. She wouldn't understand, and I wouldn't want to make life difficult for her by trying to explain.

"But it's not the same. Drusilla's been in a foul temper all day and I'm just not having fun anymore."

I smile in response, both at the woman who became my friend and at her view of the Hunger Games. She really does think it exists to provide fun for the people watching and she definitely thinks that what is just a job for her rather than a matter of life and death should be entertaining.

"Where is Drusilla anyway?"

"I think she went downstairs to make sure they get on the chariot on time. I don't think she trusts anyone else with the job. I wanted to go with her but she wouldn't let me because of Callista," she adds sulkily.

"What do you mean?"

"Callista wanted to see your brother again. She thinks he's gorgeous and she's talked of nobody else all day. She's been driving Drusilla crazy."

I roll my eyes, pretending to be annoyed when really I'm laughing inside. "For Panem's sake, it doesn't matter what he looks like as long as he stays alive. And don't tell him she thinks that, will you? His ego's big enough already."

Charis laughs and links her arm through mine, leading me towards the door. "There's a car waiting downstairs to take you to the Training Centre. You should have left already."

"I wanted to see Gloss," I tell her, only half paying attention to what she's saying because I'm too busy trying to catch glimpses of the chariots on each of the television screens we pass as we make our way rapidly down the corridor.

"I hope your brother wins," she says as we come to a halt in the entrance hall, struggling to make herself heard over the commotion that suddenly surrounds us.

"So do I," I reply even though I know she can't hear me. "So do I."

* * *

After leaving Charis at the Remake Centre, I quickly found the car that would take me to the Training Centre. It didn't take long to get there and I have spent the time since I arrived pacing around the television room, half watching the ceremony even though I hardly dare to look.

Fortune sits on one of the chairs, calmly commenting on the passing tributes almost as if he is one of the Capitol audience who has no preference for who lives and who dies. I try to ignore him, focussing on the attention Gloss seems to be getting and how good a job he's doing of pretending that he welcomes it.

It seems like a lifetime before I finally hear the sound of footsteps in the corridor and a short time later Falco strides into the room, closely followed by Gloss and Diamond. I stare up at my brother as he walks straight towards me, moving to stand beside the arm of my chair before resting his hand upon it.

"It's finished now," I whisper, placing my hand over his.

"I don't know how you can bear it," he says, his eyes scanning me as if to reassure himself that I'm still in one piece, which I can't help thinking is ironic considering he's the one going into the arena.

"Because there's no other choice," I reply, my voice barely audible.

He nods and smiles slightly. "I'm going to change."

I nod in return, knowing better than to argue when he has that look in his eyes. "Come back and watch the replay with me," I say. "We need to see the opposition."

"I'll be really quick," he says, before quickly turning and leaving the room with a doubtlessly inadvertent swish of his bejewelled cloak.

I stare after him until I feel the sofa dip slightly and look around to see Falco sitting at the other end, gazing at me with eyes full of concern. I shift closer when he discreetly beckons to me but I know what he's going to say before he can speak.

"It doesn't matter about me. Only Gloss matters right now."

"Not to me," he replies, glancing around the room to make sure Fortune and Diamond are watching the television screen rather than us. "And he's stronger than you think. Mentally as well as physically."

I shake my head in disagreement. "No, Falco. He's always been the strong one, in every way. I know that." I take a deep breath in an attempt to hold back my tears, tears that seem to have come from nowhere in the same way as the mental images I suddenly have of Gloss falling to the arena floor as the sound of a cannon firing echoes in my ears. "I can't do this. I can't sit here like everything's normal. I can't do it."

I rise to my feet and leave the room, intending to get away from everyone else for long enough to pull myself back together. I have to do this. I have to find the strength. I have to watch the ceremony properly because I have to see the other tributes. I have to see my brother's competition because that's the only way we will be able to figure out how to defeat them. Gloss needs me. I can't let him down.

"Cash? What are you doing out here? I told you I wouldn't be long."

"I'm fine. I just needed some space."

"You don't look fine to me," he replies, putting his arm around my shoulders and leading me into the dining room. "Not unless being fine involves leaving a room with tears in your eyes."

"It's nothing. I'm OK. Honestly, Gloss, I am."

"I can win, Cash," he tells me firmly, his voice not wavering and his eyes not leaving mine. "I'm going to win. Then you won't have to come here alone again."

"I wish you hadn't done this," I say. "I would give anything to go back and make you change your mind. I don't want you to die."

"I'm not going to die. I'm not. You have to trust me."

"I do trust you, you know that. But the arena isn't like anywhere else on Earth. Anything can happen. You can be the best fighter in there and still end up dead. Dahlia proved that."

"I'm not Dahlia. And I'm not you either, but I need you to believe in me. I can't win if you don't. If you believe in me then I'll win just to prove Father wrong."

"I do believe in you. We'll win together," I reply instantly, pushing my doubts to the back of my mind for his sake as he pulls me down onto a chair beside him. "What did Father say?"

I feel rather than see him shake his head slowly in response.

"Not a lot," he says quietly. "I don't think he was all that surprised and I don't think he expects me to get home in any way other than in a coffin."

I shudder at his words. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that."

He shrugs his shoulders before tightening his hold on me and continuing. "I've always been a disappointment to him so I don't suppose he's all that upset."

"That makes two of us," I reply lightly, trying to stop him from thinking too much. I wish I'd never asked.

"Mother's nerves are getting worse," he continues eventually, looking up to see me nod in agreement. "She hugged me and then ran out of the room. Only Satin stayed until the Peacekeepers came back."

"Does she seem different to you?"

"Satin's always been different, Cash," he teases. "Have you never noticed?"

"I don't mean it like that," I reply, laughing lightly.

"Then how do you mean it?"

"I don't know. A little bit less vindictive. And she actually looked tired when I saw her yesterday."

"There's more competition for the big Capitol contracts than there used to be," he replies. "Father doesn't have the backing of as many people as he used to and I think he's feeling the pressure. He takes it out on her."

"How do you know that?" I ask him, suddenly thinking how that should be something I shouldn't have to be told.

"She told me. And I've heard them arguing. Father always blames her when his negotiating goes wrong. He had a run in with the Woodvilles and I think Satin came off worse than anybody."

"The Woodvilles," I snarl, feeling nothing but disgust at the mention of my family's greatest rivals. "I don't know who they think they are."

Gloss smiles. "I think Glory regrets crossing Satin now though. The rumours flying around the district about her will take a while to die down."

I laugh, remembering the scandalous tales of double-dealing and treachery that will surely tarnish the heir to the Woodville fortune forever. "Satin was behind all of that? Really?"

"Not that it could ever be proven," replies my brother, the look in his eyes confirming what I already know is the truth. Then he pauses for a while before continuing. "It's good to hear you laugh, Cashmere."

"I don't think I'll be happy again unless you survive the arena and come back to me."

"I told you before that I'll win."

I don't know what to say to that so I hug him briefly before sitting upright again.

"Where are you going now?" he asks. "Back to the television room?"

I shrug my shoulders. "But you should go to bed. You've got to go to training in the morning and we've probably missed most of the replay of the Opening Ceremony anyway."

"You're going to Falco, aren't you?" he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear and his voice so low that I still have to strain to hear him. I don't answer, and he obviously takes my silence to mean 'yes'. "In the Capitol? Is that such a good idea?"

"I need him, Gloss. I don't know what else to say. But I won't do anything stupid. I promise."

"Love makes people do stupid things," he replies flatly.

I stare at him in silence for a few seconds and then I laugh, hugging him tightly before rising to my feet. "And what would you know of love, little brother?"

He looks like he's going to say something in response but he laughs with me instead. Then he gets up and playfully pushes me back onto the sofa as he tells me he'll see me in the morning. Then he's gone and I'm alone in the room, staring at the gold-framed mirror that takes up most of the wall opposite me.

* * *

After a few minutes I force myself to get up and slowly walk towards the door. Gloss had been right, I had intended to go straight back to Falco, but that was before our mention of the first day of training made me think about something else entirely. When a person becomes a mentor, they are not told what to expect, they are not told where they have to go and what they have to do, they are simply expected to get on with it and learn as they go along. My role during the build up to the Games is something I can work out well enough, but I have no idea what I have to do when the tributes are fighting for their lives in the arena. This time last year, I took it for granted that if I had sponsors then I would be sent what I needed, but now I suddenly realise I have become the one who will have to do the sending. How can I help Gloss when I don't even know where the Control Room is?

The answer to my question is that I can't, and that's what makes me turn to my right and head in the direction of the front door rather than to the left towards the television room. It might be very late in the evening, but the very least I can do is find out where I'm going.

* * *

Nobody speaks to me until I reach the entrance hall, and even when I get there, the only people I see are a few reporters. They seem to be recording random interviews with whoever happens to pass by, and if you ask me then the majority of their interviewees look like they've had far too much of the wine that was provided for the crowds that lined the streets to watch the Opening Ceremony. Their voices are loud and their movements uncoordinated, and it isn't much of an effort for me to pull my hood over my head and sneak past them.

I follow a path that leads behind the Training Centre building, knowing that the Control Room and the Gamemakers' Headquarters aren't visible from the City Circle but at the same time can't be far away. I mentally curse myself as I walk, wishing that I'd had the sense to locate the place sooner.

Then just when I'm about to give up and go back the way I came, I turn a corner to see a vastly intimidating looking building rising up before me. It is constructed entirely of the darkest stone I've ever seen, completely unlike the pale, sandy brightness of the buildings back home or even the stark white of the Justice Building in District Two, and I stop to stare at the ornately carved pillars that form the entrance, mesmerised by the gargoyles which seem to creep around them in the darkness.

My first instinct is to run away, to leave it until tomorrow and then ask Falco to bring me here once Gloss has left for training, but I take a deep breath and force myself to step forwards. I have to do this. I have to do this for Gloss's sake. He's the one who'll be in the arena. All I have to do is go and have a look around a building, so I've got no excuse for being so pathetic.

That thought somehow makes me braver, and I'm soon striding towards the forbidding building with something that could almost resemble confidence. I get close enough to see that the actual entrance is beyond the pillars, and that it is made of glass rather than stone. I notice the white-uniformed guards at exactly the same time as a loud voice breaks through the silence to command me to stop.

I turn around to see a Peacekeeper standing a few short paces away from me, and I am immediately furious with myself that I was too preoccupied to notice him even though I must have all but walked straight past him to get this far.

"Who are you?" he asks, peering at me in the dim light. "Why are you here?"

I stare at him, realising that both the angle of the lamps that are mounted on the pillars and the way I have my hood pulled forwards make it so I can see his face clearly but he can't see mine. He's only young, possibly a couple of years older than me, and he has the dark hair and eyes and olive skin of District Two. He's not as tall and not as strong, but he looks enough like Corvinus that my fear subconsciously subsides slightly even though I try not to let it.

"Cashmere de Montfort," I reply, pulling my hood down and stepping into the light so he can see me. "I don't think you need me to tell you why I'm here now you know that."

"You shouldn't be here now," he replies. "The Gamemakers don't open the Control Room until the first day of training begins."

"I didn't know."

"You do now," he says. "So can you please leave. They'll be out of their meeting soon and we'll both be in trouble if you stay and they find you here."

I turn and look into the building, and only then do I notice that there are two sets of doors and glass panels rather than one. The narrow space between is lined with Peacekeeper guards and I quickly realise I won't be getting any closer until they want me to. I can't help but smile at the thought of how this is probably something even Astraea Bellafonte-Rossetti would call security.

I look up at the man who stands opposite me and nod. He hasn't done me any harm and there's nothing for me to gain by not doing what he says.

"Thank you," he says, gesturing to the pathway and quickly walking off without looking back.

I'm far enough away for the Control Room building to be out of sight when I see the ornately carved wooden bench, so I sit down, leaning back and pulling my knees up to my chest, hugging them tightly. I probably shouldn't be here either, but I don't care enough to make myself move, not when I know Fortune and Diamond will probably still be in the television room and that watching the replays of Gloss in the Opening Ceremony will only make reality even harder to deny.

What will I do if he dies? Because he might, however much I don't want to think about it. Even when he, Sapphire and I were children training in District One, he was always the least willing to fight, the one who used to loathe confrontation. How will he cope in the arena? How will he fight the other Careers? How will he bring himself to kill those who are there with him but did not volunteer? Will he even be able to?

"It's cold tonight. You shouldn't be out here without a coat," says a Capitol-accented voice, interrupting my thoughts and making me fly to my feet. "I'm sorry," the man continues. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"What do you want?" I ask, immediately suspicious before I even really look at him. I instinctively stay behind the bench so it stands between us.

"I don't want anything. My meeting has finished so I'm on my way home."

Meeting? That makes me look more closely at the man as I remember the Peacekeeper's words. It's then that I notice the deep purple robes which are stretched around an impressively large girth that could only belong to a wealthy man of the Capitol. He's a Gamemaker. Even as I sat on this bench, he was probably sitting in a conference room with his twenty-three colleagues as they all decided how to make this year's arena as entertaining for the audience as they possibly could.

"I'm sorry," I reply, frantically attempting to control my emotions and backtrack from my earlier question.

This man will know who I am and he'll know who I'm mentoring. If I offend him then he will remember my words and I don't doubt that he will remember them when Gloss is in the arena. I can't afford to give him an additional reason to hurt my brother when the fact he's a tribute is a massive one already.

He smiles and steps forward so I can see him clearly for the first time. His face is as round as his stomach, and I'd judge him to be around fifty, although in the Capitol it isn't easy to tell.

"I understand, Miss de Montfort," he says evenly, his eyes not leaving me for several seconds before he speaks again. "I can't believe a year has passed since your victory."

"Neither can I," I answer truthfully, backing away before I finish speaking, not because I feel especially intimidated by the man for any reason other than his Gamemaker's robes but because I have so many questions running through my head that I know I have to end this conversation before I say something both Gloss and I will regret.

I want to ask him how long he's been a Gamemaker for. I want to know if he remembers those he watched die last year. Does he remember Corvinus? Does he remember when I killed Elsah on the first day of the Games? Was he sitting on the edge of his seat and rubbing his hands together in glee when Dahlia and I finally faced each other in front of the Cornucopia? Then I see his eyes flick to my sapphire pendant and I wonder if he remembers the young woman who owned it first. Was he part of the group who sanctioned Finnick Odair's trident? Did he sigh with relief when the most-sponsored tribute in the history of the Hunger Games killed his last opponent?

I will never know, because these are all questions that I will never have the answers to. To ask even one of them could result in my death if the man was so inclined, and could certainly result in Gloss's death in the arena. I can't risk that, and that is why I have to walk away.

"I have to go. I should be back at the Training Centre."

He nods without speaking and I am almost out of sight before he calls out to me.

"Miss de Montfort?" I turn around. "Pass on my regards to Mr Hazelwell."

"And who shall I say said to?"

"Heavensbee. Plutarch Heavensbee."

* * *

I am still thinking about the Gamemaker when the lift bell rings and the doors open onto our level of the Training Centre. Therefore when I quickly make my way down the corridor, through the entrance door and towards the television room, I'm not really concentrating on where I'm going.

"Not that way, Butterfly," whispers Falco, leaning around the door to the dining room before swiftly vanishing again.

I change direction and find him sitting on the sofa in the corner of the room, staring up at me and still wearing the suit he wore to the Opening Ceremony.

"He went out so she went to bed," he says, and I know immediately that he's referring to Fortune and Diamond.

"He's never here," I reply. "If it wasn't for Gloss then I'd feel sorry for the girl. If he doesn't support her then nobody will and I'm sure she's smart enough to know that."

"She is," he says. "Don't feel too sorry for her though, because I'm sure she's also smart enough to know she has to support herself. And anyway, talking of 'never here', where were you?"

I look away, suddenly embarrassed that I'll have to admit to my lack of knowledge about how the mentoring side of the Games works.

"I met a friend of yours," I tell him, able to meet his eyes once more as my curiosity gets the better of me. "He passes on his best regards."

"Who?" he asks immediately, and I regret my words when the expression on his face shows me he thought I meant something a lot more sinister than I did.

"I'm sorry," I say contritely. "I didn't mean it like that. It was a Gamemaker. He said his name was Heavensbee."

"Plutarch Heavensbee?"

"How many Heavensbees do you know?" I retort teasingly, making him frown slightly. "Yes, Plutarch Heavensbee. How do you know a Gamemaker anyway?"

"I know lots of people, Butterfly," he replies in a vastly over exaggerated superior tone of voice, putting his arm around me and pulling me around so I lie on the sofa with my back against his chest. "But I might ask you the same question. How do you know a Gamemaker?"

I bring our joined hands up to cover my face as I shake my head in a mixture of amusement and shame.

"I went looking for the Control Room because I didn't know where it was. If I don't know what to do then I won't be able to help Gloss," I say, my voice getting slowly more defiant in response to the raised eyebrows I can sense rather than see.

"I'm surprised you got anywhere near the place before tomorrow."

"I didn't, not really. I got close enough to see the guards and then I turned back. I was sitting on a bench in the garden and Heavensbee spoke to me."

"And he didn't tell you to tell me anything else?"

"No. Why would he?" I ask, getting suspicious and trying to turn around to look at him. He doesn't let me.

"No reason. But you were lucky. You shouldn't sneak around Gamemaker meetings like that."

"I didn't do it on purpose. I need to help Gloss."

"You will," he replies, his voice softer this time. "I'll take you there tomorrow. I had to learn the way it all works for myself last year so I'll show you."

I lean back against him again, relaxing slightly. "Have you heard anything about any of the other tributes?"

"Not really. Virtually everyone in the city is talking about you and Gloss."

"He told me he doesn't want to join the Alliance. Has he told you that?"

"Yes, but I'm not surprised really. I don't need to tell you how different you both are from each other."

"He can't be alone before he even gets into the arena. He has to have the choice."

"I know. I agree with you," he says, holding me tighter and twisting my bracelet round and round on my wrist. "He isn't stupid, Cashmere. He knows."

"I'd go in there for him, you know that, don't you? He volunteered for me. You know why."

"I know, but I'd never let you." I open my mouth to tell him that he wouldn't be able to stop me but he squeezes me hard to keep me silent as he continues. "I wasn't lying when I told you I didn't know what he was planning, but I do wish he'd told me. Then I could have told him that he didn't have to go through with it."

"Stop it, Falco. Please stop lying to me. The invitation will arrive and we both know it."

"You've told me that you trust me so many times before, so why did you lie?"

"I didn't."

"Then why don't you trust me now?"

"Because what you're saying is impossible and we both know it."

I push my hands down, intending to stand up, but he doesn't let me. He tightens his arms around me so I can't move until eventually I give up trying and just shuffle around into a less awkward position instead. We lie there in silence for so long that I think he's gone to sleep when he suddenly moves so he can swing his legs up onto the sofa, not letting me go as he does.

"I should go," I tell him. "This can't happen here. Someone might see."

"In a minute," he says, and I'm so exhausted and so comfortable that I don't protest.

Just a little bit longer and I'll move, I tell myself. There's nobody here to see and Falco always says there are no bugs in the dining room. He should know. That means I have nothing to worry about and neither does he. That's what I intend to keep telling myself anyway. Then I don't have to move yet.

I turn around again and find myself staring at our reflection in the mirror as I try to stop thinking about Gloss. He told me not to do this here. He told me I had to keep my distance from Falco or someone would find out and I know I should listen to him. He doesn't want anything to happen to me and I love him for that even though I can't bring myself to heed his words. I trust Falco but I don't believe him when he says the president isn't going to sell me again, and I hate myself because the fear and dread I feel at that thought is preventing me from giving my brother my full attention as much as it is keeping me here on this sofa wrapped in the only arms that make me feel safe.

Gloss volunteered for the Games to protect me, so the least I can do is return the favour and do all I can to protect him, and that is exactly what I'm going to do. If Gloss dies then I will never forgive myself. If Gloss dies then I don't know if I'll be able to live without him. I know I wouldn't want to, and that is why I have to get a grip and see that he survives, whatever it takes. And I will, but that doesn't mean I have to move yet.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"So much for being discreet."

"I told her I wouldn't leave her."

"You say that like you think I will."

"You might. Didn't you realise what this would do to her?"

"I did it for her. She told me what really happened. She told me the truth about the last night of her Victory Tour, about what she had to do last time she was here. Did you know that? How could you let it happen? You say you love her and she believes you, but where were you when she needed you? At home with Astoria?"

"Stop it!" I shout, sitting up as I decide I can't pretend to be asleep for any longer. "Both of you!"

"I will always hate myself because I couldn't stop it," continues Falco as if he didn't hear me, still addressing my brother. "I hate myself because that was the time I truly realised how little power I really have. By then it was too late for me to stop it. But I won't make the same mistake again."

I've had enough of this. I've heard enough. What is this? 'Let's Talk About Cashmere Like She's the Object the Capitol Believes She Is' Day?

"I said 'stop it'!" I scream, my voice so loud that the room suddenly feels too quiet when I fall silent. "You!" I shout, staring straight at my slightly stunned looking brother. "You shouldn't be shouting at him, you should be going to training and making sure you bloody well stay alive, because if you don't then I'll kill you!"

He stares right back at me, his eyes giving me the impression that he wants to point out the flaw in that sentence which is so obvious even my rage doesn't blind me to it. However he doesn't quite dare and he remains quiet.

"And you!" I continue, rounding on Falco, who is still sitting on the sofa we both fell asleep on, looking considerably less shocked than Gloss. Because I know him as well as I do, I know it's only because he's better at hiding his emotions, and that makes me shout even louder. "Do you think you wallowing in self-loathing is going to help me? I love you, and I don't blame you for what happened, so what makes you think you have the right to blame yourself?"

They exchange glances but don't speak, and a second later my rage abruptly fades and I flop back onto the sofa next to Falco.

"I'm done now," I say calmly, looking at each of them in turn. "But don't talk about me like I'm not here again."

"I'm sorry, Cash," replies Gloss as he sits down on the floor at my feet like he always did when we were growing up.

I let him lean back against me for a couple of minutes but then I stand up, pushing him with one hand and dragging Falco with my other.

"Let's go. They'll wonder where we are if we're not at breakfast."

"Whatever you say, Your Majesty," replies Falco, his voice playfully mocking.

I roll my eyes at him before striding towards the door.

"Cash?"

"What is it, Gloss?"

"This is the dining room. They'll bring breakfast to you if you wait a while. It's not even light outside yet."

I love him to death, but there are times when I hate my brother.

* * *

"I have to go now. I'll be late for training."

I look around and close the dining room door just in case anyone is listening to our conversation despite how Diamond and Fortune have long since left the room.

"Don't dismiss the Alliance yet. Please, Gloss. Trust me. Even if you don't want to stay with them when you get in the arena, at least give yourself the option."

"I can't be doing with it, Cash," he replies. "I can't read people like you can and I don't want to spend the whole time waiting for someone to stab me in the back."

I sigh, not quite feeling able to bring myself to remind him that he'll be doing that anyway, whether he stays with what is commonly known as the Career Alliance or not. I also don't see the point of telling him that he's every bit as perceptive as I am, mostly because that's a truth I know he'll never believe. Instead, I use my favourite tactic that never lets me down and always works.

"Please, Gloss," I say as we both stand up. "Do it for me."

He nods and leans down to kiss the top of my head briefly before turning and leaving the room. Almost as soon as he has vanished from my sight, I hear Diamond yelling at him because they're going to be late. I smile when there's no audible response from my brother, imagining the obvious indifference I know he will be showing her.

"Where are you going now?" asks Falco, making me rapidly spin around to face the doorway behind me.

"How many times have I told you?" I retort, only half teasingly. "Don't creep up on me like that."

He walks towards me, clearly trying to look humble and apologetic. It doesn't work and I can't help laughing, which I have no doubt was his intention.

"Not here," I scold, pulling back when he puts his arms around me and kisses me. "Are you mad?"

"Madly in love with you," he whispers teasingly, his voice mocking rather than sickly-sweet. "And there's nobody to see or hear us here. I told you that when you first came to the Capitol."

I roll my eyes at him before giving up and letting him hold me. I'm slightly annoyed with myself for my lack of resistance but I'm nowhere near annoyed enough to move.

"Where are you going? I thought you were going to show me the Control Room."

"I will. But you know what I have to do, Butterfly," he says quietly, suddenly completely serious as he steps away from me. "I'm not allowed to sponsor Gloss and neither are you."

I shiver in response to his words. "Be careful whose debt we're getting into," I tell him pointedly and he nods, his eyes not leaving mine.

"You know I will. I'll see you after training has finished," he continues, his tone suddenly changing and becoming a lot more formal just as I sense someone else's presence in the room.

"Can I help you?" I ask Fortune as he stands there staring at me in a way that makes me feel slightly uncomfortable.

"Unfortunately not," he replies. "I've wasted enough of my time in this place. I'm going out."

"What about Diamond?"

"What about her?" he asks, and even though I know the girl will have to die so Gloss can win, I feel a pang of anger on her behalf at his indifference.

"I have to go," interrupts Falco, his voice settling my emotions immediately. "Have a good day, Cashmere," he says, smiling slightly.

"Have a good day," I reply, smiling as he walks away, knowing that he will have heard something entirely different to the words that actually left my lips, that the almost meaningless phrase means 'I love you' because I can hardly ever say the words I truly want to say.

As soon as Falco vanishes from my sight, I turn away from my fellow mentor in disgust and set off out of the Training Centre, walking the short distance to the Control Room. I know Falco said he'd show me how everything works, and I'm sure I'll get further with working out what I'm meant to be doing when he's with me, but there's no harm in having a look around by myself.

I know I'm not doing anything wrong, that I am a mentor and I have every right to be here, but that doesn't mean I don't feel like I'm sneaking around somewhere where I shouldn't be. I keep telling myself that's mostly because it's surprisingly quiet and for no other reason. I only see one or two people before I reach my destination and those I do see barely acknowledge my existence.

Strangely, the vast entrance of glass and dark stone looks even more intimidating without the lines of Peacekeeper guards blocking the doors, but I push my apprehension to the back of my mind and make myself walk towards them. When I get a short distance away, the sheet of glass slides silently to the side so my path is clear. I look all around because I still can't shake the feeling that someone's watching me, but I see nobody.

Once I've made it through the first set of doors I immediately cross to the other set, and I quickly find myself in a room like no other I have seen before. Only when I find myself gasping for breath do I realise I hadn't been breathing at all, that the sight of the place had shocked me into complete silence and stillness.

After a couple of minutes I manage to approach the station that lies under an illuminated sign bearing the number '1' in bright red lights. Then I sit down on the massive black desk chair from which I will be fighting for my brother's life in a few short days time, staring up at the massive television screens that cover virtually every available inch of wall space. They all currently bear the seal of the Capitol on a plain dark-blue background, but I shiver as I imagine them showing a very different picture. A picture of Gloss in the arena.

"Stop it, Cashmere," I tell myself angrily. "Gloss needs you. Get a grip."

I take a deep breath and focus on the smaller screen in front of me. I place my hand on the control panel purely because it seems the logical thing to do, and the computer immediately springs to life. It reacts so quickly to my touch that I instinctively jump back, letting go and making everything switch off again.

I laugh nervously at myself, and even that small sound seems to fill the otherwise silent and deserted room. I reach forward for the panel again and the screen lights up, showing me a series of graphs and tables which are mostly incomprehensible, all surrounding yet another Capitol seal. My eyes flick systematically from one section to the next, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing. It doesn't help that everything is set at zero because the Games haven't started, but I persevere, knowing that I can't help my brother if I don't know what I'm doing.

I've just about managed to work out that the chart on the top right is going to tell me how much sponsorship money my brother has been pledged and by how many sponsors, and that the chart on the top left will do the same for Diamond, when I hear the door swing open.

I look up curiously, taking my hand away so the screen blacks out, but my curiosity turns to apprehension when I see who has disturbed me.

"You," hisses the man from District Two whose look of total hatred I haven't forgotten despite all that has happened since I went to his district for my Victory Tour. "I've been waiting for this."

"What are you going to do, Tiberius?" I retort, deciding in a similar way to when I met Enobaria this time last year that showing fear isn't a good idea. "If you touch me in here then the Capitol will be on you before my heart stops beating. This is the Control Room so they'll be watching us. They probably know what we're going to do before we do."

He says nothing and stalks across the room towards me, suddenly reminding me of the cat-like muttations I fought in the arena. He moves like they did, like a predator hunting its prey, and I quickly stand up, not knowing if I intend to run or fight back.

Seconds later, as he stops a few metres away from me, I wish I'd stayed sitting down. The only thing standing has done is remind me how small and weak I am in comparison.

"It's not my fault she let me past her guard because she was so arrogant," I say, guessing this is all about Dahlia. "It was her or me and I didn't want to die."

"You're not supposed to be here," he retorts, his hands forming tight fists as he takes a step forwards. "You weren't supposed to win."

"So you want vengeance? Don't we all," I reply evenly, knowing he's unlikely to be stupid enough to actually attack a fellow victor, especially in the Control Room. "Virtually everyone in Panem wants their revenge on someone for something."

I stare up into his dark eyes, waiting for his rage to subside and hoping that it will.

"She wasn't supposed to die," he breathes, his voice barely audible.

"But she did. Killing me won't bring her back."

"No, it won't," he replies, his expression telling me he wouldn't act on his threats even though he certainly wishes to. "But it will make me feel better."

"For a few minutes. Then you'd remember that she's still dead and you'd be right back where you started."

I stare unblinkingly back, realising that although there's a huge difference between Sapphire and the girl who I now know was more than just a tribute to the man who stands opposite me, I've had reason to think of such vengeance for long enough to know what he's feeling.

"Tiberius!" snaps another voice from the direction of the main door, echoing around the room like cannon fire echoes around an arena.

"Following me again, Ursala?" he drawls, turning his back on me to focus on the woman who walks fearlessly across the room towards us. "If you want me then you only have to ask."

"Did you ask Vilani?" she retorts sharply, surprising me with both her mention of Dahlia and with her familiarity and how little she feels intimidated by him. "Or didn't you think you needed to bother?"

Then I remember her, and my sudden recollection explains why she is so confident. Ursala Barbieri, District Two's Victor of the Fifty-eighth Games. She must be their other mentor this year.

"Vilani made her own choices and I never forced her," growls Tiberius, pushing Ursala out of the way so hard she falls against the table she was standing beside, "but I fail to see how that's your business anyway."

I smile when she immediately straightens and walks over to me, not knowing why I'm surprised by her lack of reaction to the pain she must have felt.

"He loved her in his way. He's angry. And he won't ever admit it but he still grieves," she says as she turns to watch her fellow mentor storm from the room and slam the door behind him.

"We're all angry and we all grieve," I reply flatly, shrugging my shoulders as I wonder why she's telling me. "But I have to say I'm amazed you know that much about him. He doesn't exactly seem the talkative type."

"He's my cousin," she says, before continuing in response to my raised eyebrows as if she knows I'm thinking of his first words to her. "Well, step-cousin really. We're not related by blood. It's a long story."

"I'm from District One," I tell her with a slight smirk. "I'm used to complicated families and long stories."

She laughs. "I wouldn't really know about that, but from what I do know, I'd say our districts are about even."

I nod but say nothing further, watching her as she approaches District Two's computer station, moves a couple of things around, presses a few buttons on the screen and then turns back to look at me.

"We can't do anything here, Cashmere," she says. "We might as well go back to the Training Centre. Will you walk with me?"

"Wouldn't that be fraternising with the enemy?" I reply, narrowing my eyes at her suspiciously. "I won't tell you anything. It's very unlikely that I'd be stupid enough to under normal circumstances and I think the whole of Panem knows these aren't normal circumstances for me."

"She told me you're defensive but I thought she was exaggerating. How wrong could I have been?"

"Who told you?" I snap, knowing I'm proving her right but remaining unable to stop myself.

"My other tribute girl. The one I'm glad I was able to leave behind. You've met before."

"Astraea?"

She smiles slightly and begins to walk towards the door, somehow knowing that the mention of my former-ally's widow will make me follow. We leave the Control Room building together.

"Did she say how we came to meet? What's she been saying about me?"

"Yes, she did. She told me what she told you when you went to my home during your tour. She says she tried to hate you but she couldn't."

"Because he told me the truth," I whisper in response.

Ursala nods once and walks over to a bench. I follow her and quickly notice it's the one I'd sat on last night when I met the Gamemaker called Heavensbee.

"I saw you at the reaping," she says. "I saw your brother volunteer."

"Of course you did," I snap, suddenly suspicious again. "The whole country did. What's it to you anyway?"

"Nothing. I'm curious, that's all."

"What's there to be curious about? He's my brother, I love him, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep him alive. That's all you need to know."

"There must have been a reason for him to volunteer. He didn't have to, especially not with you already a victor."

"It's none of your business," I reply. "You don't know me, so why do you care?"

She shrugs, pushing her long black hair back behind her ears. To look at her now, she doesn't look like the stereotypically vicious District Two tribute that I very vaguely remember her being when she was in her arena. When I stare into her dark-brown eyes, I can't see any hint of the ulterior motive I still half suspect she has.

"Because 'Straea went out of her way to not quite mention you and I read between the lines like I always have to. And because you're like me. Or you were, but maybe with your brother in the Games you won't be now."

I continue to stare at her as I suddenly understand what she's referring to even though she said nothing directly. "Do you think I care about that? Don't you think I'd do anything to keep my brother from the arena? I wish with all my heart that he hadn't done what he did, no matter what it would mean for me."

She nods, and I can tell that was the reaction she was waiting for, although I have no idea why. I've said too much, I know that, but I can't say that I wish I could take it back. I like to think I'm a good judge of character and despite being a rival mentor, this woman doesn't give me the impression she means me any harm. And Panem knows I could use some friends in the Control Room, because Falco won't be able to be there all of the time.

"I've seen you before," I tell her, shuddering at the memory I abruptly recall. "At that banquet at the end of my Victory Tour."

"You're not the only one of value, Cashmere," she says bitterly, narrowing her eyes at me.

Again I understand her meaning immediately, and looking at her makes me wonder if I'll become like her eventually. She speaks with the voice of a person who has accepted her fate, and other than the haunted look in her eyes, there is no hint of the anger, resentment or pain that I'm sure she must feel.

I hear a bell ring from the Control Room building, and I look around, immediately remembering where I am and that there could well be someone listening to our conversation. After everything Falco's told me about the president's network of spies, how could I be stupid enough to not think about it sooner?

"I'm District Two and you're One," says Ursala, almost as if she read my mind. "If anyone's watching us they'll think we're talking about arena alliances. So spit it out. What do you want to say?"

"I have a family, I have people I care for. From what Corvinus told me, if you were a District Two tribute then you probably don't have much of a family with you, so why were you at that banquet? It doesn't make sense."

"Her name's Velia," she replies eventually. "And if you tell anyone this then I'll make what Tiberius would do to you look merciful."

"Threats aren't necessary," I reply dryly before continuing in a softer voice. "Who's Velia?"

"My daughter," she says, smiling slightly when my shock evidently shows in my expression. "I know. I don't look the maternal type, do I? I didn't mean to have her. I went back home after I won the Games and I didn't want to be alone with my nightmares. I forgot I wasn't eating the Training Centre food anymore and by the time I remembered it was far too late to do anything about it. She was eight three months ago."

"And her father?"

"I don't see him. Not everyone has a fairytale ending, Cashmere," she replies, her words reminding me of what Satin said to me that day when she found me crying on the kitchen floor. "I guess he just didn't like to share."

"Why are you telling me this? It doesn't make sense."

"Sometimes it's easier to talk to a complete stranger," she replies. "And 'Straea said you're a good listener, and that you don't go shouting your mouth off as soon as you hear something not everyone knows."

"Does _He _know? I mean about Velia."

"_He_ knows everything," she whispers, speaking so quietly that I can barely hear her even when I lean close. "Haven't you worked that one out by now?

I am about to reply, to tell her that there are very few people in Panem who haven't, when I am stopped by the sound of someone frantically calling my name. I look up to see Callista running down the path towards us.

"What's happened?" I ask as soon as she gets close enough to hear me, subconsciously assuming something awful has happened before my mind has chance to process the fact that they wouldn't have sent a stylist's assistant if it had.

"Happened?" replies Callista, confirming that I had been wrong to panic at the same time as reacquainting me with her almost unintelligible Capitolian accent. "Nothing's happened. Not that I know of anyway. I wanted to show you something. And as you're not doing anything…"

I turn to look at Ursala, realising that the currently purple-haired woman who is now bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet in front of us is expecting me to follow her and that therefore I will have to leave the woman who might become my friend.

"I have to go anyway," says my fellow victor. "I don't say this to many people but it's been a pleasure meeting you, Cashmere de Montfort. I would call us allies but I don't think you'll have any in this Games."

"My only ally is my brother," I tell her, "so you'll forgive me for hoping both your tributes die in the arena." She nods in acceptance and understanding. "But that doesn't mean I reject your friendship."

"Come _on_, Cashmere," nags Callista, taking my hand and attempting to drag me from the bench.

I groan and finally give in. "Okay, okay. Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see," is the only reply I get before I'm dragged along the path, which I soon discover leads past the Training Centre and out onto the City Circle.

* * *

By the time I finally get back to the Training Centre it's late enough for the first day of training to be long over. Callista had taken me back to the Remake Centre, where she and Charis showed me the dress that Felix had intended to be my Victory Ceremony outfit before he and Falco had come up with the idea of remodelling the diamond encrusted one that Sapphire wore before her Games. They told me it had been left unfinished, and that they had worked on it themselves so I might be able to wear it. I was and still am surprisingly touched by the gesture, and I spent the whole afternoon there with them as they talked about the usual range of people and places I don't know, listening to them and enjoying the distraction they provided.

However it doesn't take me long to be jolted back to reality, especially when I walk down the Level One corridor and realise there is no sign of anyone else.

"Gloss? Falco?"

I peer around the television room door but there is nobody there. The massive screen is blank and everywhere is immaculately clean. It looks like it has been undisturbed for months, even though I know that is far from the truth.

I stop to listen closely, and only then do I hear the faint sounds coming from the dining room. It sounds like swords clashing, and though it isn't loud enough to be real, I move towards it immediately.

"What are you doing?" I ask quietly when I see my brother sitting alone on the sofa, staring up at the television.

He doesn't respond, so I follow the direction of his gaze to find myself watching a slightly younger and still scarred Enobaria Moreno facing an opponent twice her size as she fights to win the Sixtieth Games. The man she's fighting, who I remember as being one of my own district's tributes even though I can't recall his name, is trying to taunt her into losing her composure so she does something stupid. I can see his panic steadily increasing as she lunges forwards, her expression never changing.

"What makes a person become dead inside like that, Cash?" whispers Gloss as Enobaria slashes her blade across her opponent's throat, waits for him to fall and then casually walks away.

"A past so horrific it's almost impossible to imagine worse," I reply, recalling the tale Astraea told me of Dahlia's mentor.

I reach across him for the remote control and switch the television off, turning to face him and hoping the look on my face will convince him not to ask for an explanation. He nods, taking the hint immediately like he usually does.

"Why are you sitting on your own watching a replay of one of the most brutal Games ever?" I ask, trying again to get him to talk to me. "How was training?"

"I just wanted some space."

"Are you trying to tell me something?" I retort, rising quickly to my feet and pretending to walk away.

"You don't count," he replies, grabbing my wrist and pulling me back down beside him. "But if another reporter asks me how I feel…"

I smile sadly. "You'll have to get used to that. So what are the other tributes like?" I prompt again, refusing to give up.

He shrugs his shoulders. "I tried not to look at them, If I do then it will only be harder."

"And the Alliance?"

"I still don't want it."

"You did what I said though, didn't you?" I ask instantly, hearing the panic in my voice. "Please tell me you did."

"Relax, Cash," he says with a smile, pulling me against him and not letting me move. "I endured a whole day in their company, just for you."

"If you want to leave the others after the bloodbath then I will help you, but if you don't pretend to be with them now then you'll only make yourself a target."

"I know, but that man from District Two is unbearable. He needs someone to wipe that arrogant smirk off his face."

"I bet he's telling Tiberius the same about you," I tease, smiling when he laughs.

"Since when have you been on first name terms with District Two victors?"

"We had an…altercation when I went to the Control Room-"

"If he hurt you then I'll kill him," interrupts Gloss, going from amused to angry in an instant.

"Of course he didn't. In the Control Room? He wouldn't be so stupid."

"Just so long as he isn't."

"How about the others?" I persist, determined to get him to talk about this however hard he tries to evade my questions and deal with it all himself.

"Pelagia's not too bad," he says. "District Four," he adds in response to my confused look. "But her district partner's allied with Theodorus already. Or he thinks he is. You already know that Diamond and I are never going to get on, and what Megaera thinks is anyone's guess."

"Who's Megaera?" I say, asking him even though I think I already know the answer.

"District Two."

I nod thoughtfully as he confirms what I thought, struck by how different they seem in comparison to the tributes I was in the arena with. Nobody would ever have accused Dahlia of hiding her thoughts, but it seems that the same can't be said of the next girl to leave her district for the Capitol.

"District Three seems strangely confident and District Six thinks he's something special. District Five hasn't given up either. She's still trying. The rest have no chance."

"So tell me the rest then," I say. "Swords, knives or spears? Strengths? Weaknesses? Alliances? Arguments?"

"Cash-"

"No, Gloss," I interject immediately. "Start talking."

He sighs and obeys, telling me about the way Megaera fights with a sword rather than knives, which are usually the weapon of choice for the average District Two tribute girl, about the way none of his prospective allies seem to have any major weaknesses and the rest of the tributes have far too many for him to feel comfortable watching them. I wish he wouldn't say things like that because then I start to doubt he will decide to choose his own life above that of anyone else when the time comes.

However I say nothing and let him keep talking, not wanting to stop him now he's finally decided to start. The clock on the mantelpiece strikes for two in the morning when he eventually concedes that he can think of nothing else to say about his fellow tributes, but when he jokingly suggests that I should go to bed and get my beauty sleep I shake my head and lean against the back of the sofa.

He says nothing further, perhaps sensing that I don't want to waste time sleeping when he will be in the arena in four days time, however we must have fallen asleep eventually because that's where Falco finds us in the morning. I wake to find myself curled up against my brother with my head on his shoulder, exactly the same position we used to fall asleep in as small children. If Gloss notices then he says nothing and I'm grateful to him for that. If I think about the significance of my subconscious actions too much then I won't be able to think straight and I can't have that. I have to be strong. For Gloss. Nothing else matters.

* * *

**_I've nothing to say other than that I get a shock every time I see my review total for this story! You've all made my day :)_**


	11. Chapter 11

**This chapter is as long as my 'Love is a Battlefield' chapters used to be, and a lot of it is there to set up future parts of the story - I tried to cut it down but it didn't work so I gave up. Gloss's Games starts in the next one ;) Thanks to everyone who has left me a review :) **

Chapter Eleven

"How did you know who to trust?"

"Pardon?" I reply, feeling shocked when I suddenly realise Diamond was talking to me.

"How did you know who to trust in the arena? How did you know that man from Two wouldn't kill you as you slept beside him?"

Even a year later, the direct mention of There makes my palms sweat and my heart race, and the mention of Corvinus means that reaction is accompanied by an all too familiar pang of grief as well. I look up from my plate at my brother's district partner and can't avoid noticing the almost imperceptible hint of fear that I also detected in her voice however hard she's trying to hide it.

She must be scared to ask me a question like that in front of Gloss, so despite how determined I am to get my brother back from the arena alive, I give her the only answer I can bring myself to, which is also the one that may help her in the end.

"If you have to ask me that then you shouldn't even be thinking of trusting anyone. If your instincts don't give you the answer then you can rely only upon yourself."

My tone isn't gentle and I can see she doesn't know whether to be angry or hurt by my words, but I don't care. She might not like me or what I said but she will remember my answer and it may keep her alive. My brother might be in this Games but she is District One as well, and that makes me think she deserves an honest answer, for now at least.

"I-"

I look back at Diamond when she starts to reply, but we are both distracted by the light knock at the door and the uniformed Avox servant who walks into the room shortly after. I know why he's here before he has the chance to stop beside me and place the gilt-edged paper on the table in front of me. That's about the time the room starts spinning and my mind stops comprehending everything that's going on around me.

"That's very official looking," says Fortune, his voice catching my attention and making me turn to face him, wondering if he knows the truth about what he's seeing and commenting so casually about. Looking at his expression doesn't help me decide if he does or not.

"Cashmere?" whispers Gloss, and I don't have to look at him to know that he's worked out what it means all by himself. I can tell just by his voice.

"Yes?" I reply quickly and sharply, glaring at him so he doesn't say anything further in front of Diamond and Fortune.

"No," he answers immediately, his eyes not leaving the neatly folded paper in front of me.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready to go downstairs?" I retort, hoping he won't start this in front of our audience.

"It's too early," he says sharply. "And whether we talk about it now or later, I'm not going to let you-"

"That's enough, Gloss," interrupts Falco.

"Don't tell me what's enough and what isn't. If you had any decency then you wouldn't pretend this isn't happening."

"Please," I start. "Don't fight. Please don't fight here."

Then everyone at the table turns to look at Diamond as she loudly clears her throat.

"I think it's about time I went to get ready," she says, speaking with all the calmness of a true daughter of my district, of one who has seen confrontations like this ever since she can remember and knows better than to get involved. "Please excuse me."

She strides purposefully out of the room without looking back, and before the door can swing shut behind her, it is pushed open by another man in a Capitol uniform. He looks so different to the Avox who delivered the invitation I have feared ever since the last time I left this city that I'm not at all surprised when he opens his mouth and speaks to ask Fortune and I to step outside for a minute.

"There will be a meeting tomorrow morning at half past ten," says the official as soon as my fellow mentor and I obey his request. "You are to present yourself at the Control Room at that time. Do not be late."

I stare unseeingly at him, my mind as unable to process his words as much as my legs are unable to stop trembling enough to support my weight without giving me the appearance of one who has drank far too much wine far too early in the morning. How can I hear his words when I can't stop thinking about the invitation? The invitation they had the audacity to bring to me when I was sitting at the table eating breakfast with my brother as he prepares to enter the arena. If that's not the president's way of reminding me who is in control then I don't know what is. What better time to remind me that he can kill my brother in a heartbeat?

"Do you understand, Miss de Montfort?" asks the man, clearly thinking that I have become one of the many victors who have resorted to drink as a way to drown out their memories of the past. If only he knew the truth.

"Y-yes," I stammer eventually, nodding my head and backing away.

I knew about the meeting anyway as Falco had told me all about it. Every year the mentors are gathered together and told exactly what we can and can't do during the time we spend in the Control Room fighting for the life of our tributes. That way they can't say that they haven't told us. That way we can't turn around and say anything we did but shouldn't have done was an act of ignorance.

When I return to the dining room it is to find that Falco has moved to sit beside my brother and that they are whispering secretively to each other. There is nobody else in the room and as soon as they see me they fall silent instantly, turning to face me immediately. Gloss has a slightly furtive look on his face, which is a sharp contrast to the anguish I saw just before I left the room, but Falco looks impassive. I expect nothing else from a man as expert at hiding his emotions as he is.

"Do you want me to leave so you can keep talking about me?"

"Cashmere, it isn't like that," replies Falco. "I had something I had to explain to your brother but I've finished now so you can sit down again."

"I am so grateful for your permission," I snarl back, my fear of what tonight will hold making me suddenly see red, "but I don't think I will. Not until you decide to explain exactly what you're talking about to me. It is about me, after all, and don't say it isn't because it's written all over your faces."

I spin on my heel and leave, slamming the door behind me and storming off down the corridor. I try to pretend that I don't hear Gloss calling after me. It's harder to do that than ever but I make myself get in the lift and go downstairs. I go all the way down to the basement level, remembering the seemingly infinite number of corridors that surround the gymnasium and deciding they are the perfect place to hide while I pull myself back together and try to decide what to do.

* * *

I was so surprised to see the two people I love most in the world sitting close to each other and talking secretively in that way that I didn't know whether to feel anger or pain. What right have they got to exclude me like that? Especially when they were obviously talking about me and the dreaded gilt-edged invitation. Don't they think I have the right to be included?

I jump when I hear voices coming from in front of me, somewhere beyond the bend in the corridor that I can't see around from where I'm standing, and I quickly pull myself into one of the many alcoves and yank the edge of the curtain around so nobody will know I'm there. I don't want to see anyone. I don't want to talk. I wish I could stop myself from feeling anything at all. That's the only thing that could possibly help me get through what I know is to come this evening.

Whoever the people I heard were, they walk past my alcove without talking and without noticing me, and I hear nobody else after that. I know I should probably go back to the Control Room and have another attempt at learning how to use the vast array of technology I'm going to be relying upon to help me keep Gloss alive, but I still don't move. What's the point in going to the Control Room when none of the computers have been activated yet, there is nobody to teach me what to do and I wouldn't be able to concentrate anyway?

I sit without moving, staring at the back of the silk-lined curtain even though I don't really see it, thinking of increasingly ridiculous ideas about how I could possibly avoid leaving the Training Centre tonight. However I quickly discount them all. I can't feign illness because there's no way I will risk them telling me I can't possibly be well enough to mentor. I can't say I didn't receive the invitation because I'm sure Snow will have some way of knowing that I did. I can't hide behind Falco because even he is powerless against the president. Just like the times before, I have no choice. There is nothing I can do so I might as well accept it. I shiver and wrap my arms tightly around myself, hoping that doing so will get rid of my memories of the last time I came here because of an invitation. It doesn't work, but I didn't think for a second that it would.

* * *

I look at my watch and am shocked to discover that many hours have passed since I crawled behind this curtain so I didn't have to talk to anybody. Gloss will probably be having lunch with his fellow tributes in the gymnasium downstairs, and however much I wish I could see him, I know I can't. Even if he wasn't in training, I know he worked out what that invitation meant even if I didn't give him the opportunity to tell me so. Panem knows I didn't do a very good job of hiding my fear, and nobody knows me like my brother does and he has never been stupid. If he sees me before it's all over then he'll never let me leave. And then the president will probably see to it that the Gamemakers forget to disable the mines which surround his launch podium so he dies before the Games even start.

Taking a deep breath, I pause to listen for footsteps before I push the curtain aside and jump lightly down into the corridor. I'll have to go to my apartment. There's nowhere else for me to go and I'd have to go there anyway. That's where they'll send whatever dress I have to wear tonight.

I scowl at that thought, and then am so distracted by my favourite fantasy of concealing my dagger under my clothes and somehow managing to sink it deep into the heart of whichever evil monster has purchased me tonight that I almost don't hear the hushed voices coming from further ahead of me. I stop just in time, intending to turn back before they know I'm there, but I abruptly change my mind when I realise one of the voices is very, very familiar.

"I don't care," whispers Falco. "I don't care if he knows and I don't care if she forbids it. She can't command me, especially not when it comes to this."

"How can you be so stupid?" replies a voice I don't recognise, a voice that's young, female and Capitol-accented without being unpleasant. "This isn't you talking. What's happened to you?"

"Nothing's happened to me other than I fell in love. Properly this time."

"And you'd give up everything you have, everything you've worked for, just for her?"

"Yes," answers Falco, instantly and totally without hesitation. I mentally kick myself when my stupid heart skips a beat.

"It's not like her life's in danger, Falco," says the woman. "She's too valuable for that."

My breath catches as I suddenly realise exactly what they're talking about, and it takes all the willpower I possess to make myself remain where I am and to stop myself from striding around the corner and giving the woman a piece of my mind. I don't know who she is but if she can talk like that then I don't care. How would she like it? I bet she wouldn't have the same attitude if it was her the president was selling. Not that it ever would be. If that accent is anything to go by then she's far more likely to be the one doing the buying.

Falco's obviously thinking what I'm thinking, because he hisses viciously in response. "I won't dignify that comment with a reply."

"No, don't," replies Capitol-woman, sounding ever so slightly apologetic. "But you know what I meant."

"Not really. But you've never been in my position, have you?"

"No. And I'm not likely to be either. I thought you had more sense."

"You can't choose who you fall in love with, 'Rissa."

The woman sighs resignedly, and I realise they're about to go their separate ways. I creep a short distance back the way I came before striding loudly towards them. I know I probably shouldn't, but I want to see who the woman is, and I can't very well ask Falco because that would mean I'd have to tell him I'd been eavesdropping on his conversations. Although having said that, I might risk his displeasure just to ask him who 'She' is, and how she could possibly forbid him from doing whatever he wants like he normally does.

As ever, the first person my eyes are drawn to is Falco, however less than a second later my eyes flash to his side and I see the woman he was talking to. Her immaculately styled eyebrows fly in the direction of her hairline when she sees me but then she quickly restores her expression to be as completely neutral as it was before she knew I was there.

"Well, well, well," she purrs, looking me slowly up and down. "Miss Cashmere de Montfort. If you had any idea of the trouble you're causing…"

"What do you mean?" I retort, trying not to look at her too closely, trying not to see her bright green eyes, her immaculately styled jet-black hair, her perfect clothes that fit her petite frame like they were made for her, which they undoubtedly were.

She doesn't answer, she just laughs lightly and exchanges a look with Falco. I glare back at her, feeling strangely vulnerable in the presence of her oddly fragile-looking beauty. She unsettles me, and the more I look at her, the more I understand why. I am beautiful, that is truth rather than arrogance, but this woman is beautiful as well, and she knows it. Standing so close to her, I almost feel that I could be too tall, that my hair could be too wild in comparison to her sleek elegance, and that my movements might lack the grace she seems to command naturally.

In other words, for probably the first time in my life, I find myself facing the fact that I could be visually inadequate, and even after everything that's happened to me over the past year, I'm not used to it and I don't like it. This woman exudes that kind of genuine self-confidence that from what I've seen is unique to wealthy Capitolians, that kind a district girl like me can only dream of possessing, and seeing her standing next to Falco like she is makes a jealousy I know I have no true cause to feel rise up inside me.

"Are you going to answer me or not?" I snap, my feeling of vulnerability coming out as aggression.

"Feisty, isn't she?" the woman replies, turning to address Falco this time.

"Always," he answers, staring directly at me with that look which suddenly makes me forget the other woman exists. Then he smiles and looks away. "Cashmere, this is Narissa Redsparrow. She's an old friend of mine."

"Less of the old if you wouldn't mind, Hazelwell," interrupts the woman called Narissa, her tone almost playful.

"Forgive me," replies Falco, sketching a mocking bow in her direction before crossing over to stand by my side. He takes my hand for the briefest of seconds and then lets me go immediately. "And tell _Her _that what I said still stands. Worth dying for, and that's my final answer."

"So be it," replies Narissa, her voice dropping to a whisper once more. "But if it goes wrong then you won't be the only one who pays."

"It won't be like you think," he says cryptically. "This is a separate issue entirely and you know it."

"Perhaps," she replies, not looking at all convinced.

"Run along, 'Rissa," he tells her with easy familiarity, verbally rolling his eyes at her. "I'm sure you have somewhere better to be."

"Don't ever doubt it," she answers, smiling at him before spinning on her heel and disappearing in a cloud of jasmine-scented perfume that somehow reminds me of home.

I immediately turn and narrow my eyes at Falco, not quite knowing where to start, and he infuriates me further when his only response is to laugh.

"What could possibly be funny?" I ask sharply. "Is there any chance at all of you explaining who Miss Capitol Beauty is and exactly what right she has to be discussing my business in the middle of a corridor?"

"How long were you listening for?" he retorts, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at me in return.

"Long enough," I reply, in no mood to apologise for eavesdropping. "Who is she? And more importantly, who is _She_?"

"Narissa was there on the day Felix dared me to go in the Silver Fountain. I went to school with her. I've known her all my life."

"And the rest?"

He steps closer, leaning down to whisper in my ear. "I'll tell you, but not here. Not now." I open my mouth to protest but he carries on before I can speak. "Trust me, Butterfly. Please."

"I do, but there's so much that doesn't make sense. And I know I should but I can't think of any of it right now," I say, my breathing suddenly getting shallower and faster as I imagine Gloss training in the gymnasium, as I imagine his face when I'm not there to meet him when he returns, as I imagine where I'll be in a few hours time and wonder if I'll have the strength to endure it yet again.

"Cashmere…" starts Falco, and I can tell he wants to comfort me but doesn't dare in case we are being observed by the many cameras that fill the Training Centre.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I say, my words coming out in a torrent even as I turn away from him and start to run. "You know I have to do this. Please, Falco," I call without looking back, "don't make it harder than it already is."

I expect him to shout after me, to chase me and drag me back, but he doesn't. I don't want him to because it would be dangerous if he did, and not just for us, but part of me wishes that I could hear his voice behind me as I push the main doors open and race across the square. However there is nothing, at least not from the only person I want to hear.

"Cashmere!"

"Has something happened?"

"Where are you going? Cashmere!"

So intent had I been upon getting as far away from the Training Centre and the two people guaranteed to attempt to stop me doing what I have to do that I forgot all about the massive crowd of reporters who are always waiting outside in the City Circle while the Games are taking place. They wait around all day, simply on the off-chance that they should stumble upon a story that will make the front page of the newspapers in the morning, and I realise too late that my forgetfulness could just have turned me into that headline.

I keep running, ignoring them all as I try to recall the shortest route to my apartment. I don't really think of the place as being mine and I certainly don't want to go there, especially not when merely looking at the place reminds me of the last night of my Victory Tour, but I have no choice because there is nowhere else.

My hands are shaking as I reach the front door of the building and enter the code into the panel beside it. The door swings silently open in response and I stumble inside, taking several minutes to get my breath back and gather myself together enough to make it upstairs.

The sitting room I wait in feels cold and empty, and eventually I make myself switch on the television because I know they will be televising replays of the reapings and the Opening Ceremony. I sit there until it starts to go dark, forcing myself to watch my brother as the pictures alternate between him and his fellow tributes taking to the stage in their districts and then riding on the chariots through the city. I have to watch him. I have to remember what I stand to lose if I don't do this because it's the only way I can bear it.

The knock at the door comes about half an hour after the end of the third replay of the Opening Ceremony, and so when it startles me from my increasingly morbid thoughts I find myself staring at a blank screen. Shaking my head, I get up and reluctantly go to see who is there.

"What are you doing here, Felix?" I ask, not knowing whether to hug my former-stylist or cry at the sight of him. It's been so long since I've seen him and I'm feeling so many different emotions at the same time that eventually I end up doing both.

"I'm sorry about your brother, Cashmere," he says, his voice giving me the impression that he didn't know quite what to say and that he's hoping his words weren't the wrong ones.

"Don't be sorry, he isn't going to die," I retort firmly, speaking to myself as much as to him.

"Of course he isn't," he replies. "But all the same, I can't imagine what you're going through."

"I suppose you'd better come in then," I tell him, trying and no doubt failing to pretend I don't know why he's really here.

He walks into the hall and waits for me to close the door behind us. As I turn around and look at him closely, I can tell how well he's doing without having to ask him or read the newspapers. His suit is immaculate, his shoes polished to perfection, and for probably the first time in my memory, he looks well-rested and relatively stress-free. He's the most talked about young designer in the city and he's proud of his success. He's happy, I can tell that even though I can also see he's trying to hide it from me.

He raises the black garment bag he carries so it doesn't drag on the floor and I cringe at the sight of it before I can control my reaction as we walk down the corridor to my dressing room. What will I have to wear tonight? What role will I have to play? Who is the person who knows the answer to those questions? All I know is that whoever it is, it certainly isn't my stylist.

"This is only the second time I've seen you since I arrived in the Capitol after my Victory Tour ended," I say, my voice harsher than I originally intended. "Is gift-wrapping me part of your job description now?"

He sighs deeply. "I'm sorry, Cashmere. You know the way it works. If there was anything I could do then I'd do it, but I have no more choice about this than you do."

I stare unblinkingly at him, suddenly wanting nothing more than to scream and shout, to ask how he can possibly compare our situations when he isn't the one who has no choice but to walk willingly into their worst nightmares to protect those they love. However in the end I say nothing. He's my friend and what's happening to me isn't his fault. I can't take it out on him.

"So exactly how horrific is it this time?" I ask bitterly, remembering the barely-there monstrosity I had to wear last time. It was so horrendous that even Felix, who had always managed an encouraging word for me in the past no matter the situation, was completely unable to think of something positive or optimistic to say.

He doesn't answer me. Instead he clips the dress hanger onto the front of the wardrobe and unzips the black bag. I had been about to speak, but as the dress is revealed I am suddenly speechless. It's not horrific, it's beautiful, and as I reach out to brush my hand against the flowing white silk I still can't find words.

"I suppose you chose this one because whoever it is doesn't care much what I wear?" I snarl eventually, still not letting go of the dress, twisting the fabric so the diamonds on the bodice catch the light.

"Put it on," he says, leaving me wondering if his avoidance of my question was deliberate or not. "There's a car coming to pick you up in five minutes."

"It's too nice, Felix. I don't want to wear it because I know I'll hate it by the end of the night."

He places the dress over my head without speaking before I can protest, pulling it down and straightening it before stepping away so I can see myself in the mirror. I glance at my reflection for long enough to see it's every bit as perfect as I imagined but then I swiftly look away.

"You look beautiful," he whispers quietly. "You always did."

"And don't I wish it wasn't so," I reply in an even quieter voice.

At first I think he didn't hear me, but then I turn to look at him and the expression on his face tells me I was wrong. He shakes his head sadly and extends his arm to me, taking my hand in his and leading me down to the car. He holds the door open and then closes it behind me, and I make myself tap the screen which divides the front of the car from the back so the driver moves before my resolve wavers and I decide I can't go through with it.

I'm driven a short distance away to another apartment block that I'm not familiar with and I'm trembling before I even step inside the building. By the time I get to the lift I can barely stand.

I push the button for the third floor as directed by the hated invitation and force myself to take deep breaths, repeating over and over again that I have to think of my brother, that I'm doing this for him and that he's worth it. He is. That's one of the few things I know for certain.

The corridor the lift opens out onto seconds later is as white and stark as the one that leads to District One's quarters on Level One of the Training Centre. Seeing it makes me long to be back there, no matter how much I don't want to see the look in Gloss's eyes when he works out why I wasn't at dinner.

I stop in front of the strange and intricately enamelled door and raise my hand to knock. Then my arm falls back to my side and I sink to the floor, leaning against the wall. I can't do it. The previous two times were different. Then I went to a party and they found me. Once I'd got to my initial destination it felt too late to turn back. Even though deep down I know I haven't, now it still feels like I have the choice to walk away.

"But you can't, Cashmere," I scold as I push myself back to my feet and rap sharply on the door before I can change my mind. "Because of Gloss."

The door slowly swings open and I suddenly find myself leaning against the wall for support again, unsure exactly what I feel.

"Come inside. Quickly."

I do as he says but I instantly spin around to face him. "Falco, what is this? Tell me where I'm supposed to be right now! How could you do this? If anything happens to Gloss then I'll never ever forgive you!"

"Nothing will happen to Gloss," he tells me calmly, taking a step closer despite my anger.

"Of course it will! He won't kill me for this, he'll kill Gloss! How can you act like you don't know that?"

"He won't kill Gloss because you're supposed to be here. With me," he says, extending his hand to reveal a single white rose before turning slightly and flicking a wall-mounted switch so loud music fills the room.

"How…? What…?"

I turn to face the window, staring out at the city below as I futilely attempt to control my emotions.

"I had it arranged so you'd see me this time so it might convince you I was telling the truth. I always keep my word and I meant it when I told you I'd never let anyone lay a finger on you against your will ever again."

"You mean you bought me? That makes you no better than the rest of them! When will you Capitol people understand that I am a person not an object? I cannot be purchased."

The surprise I feel when he doesn't speak quickly overcomes some of my rage so I turn back around. It's then that I realise I've never truly seen him angry before, because the look in his eyes makes even me shrink back in something a bit like fear. He strides towards me and backs me against the wall so I have no choice but to look up at him as he whispers fiercely into my ear.

"I risked everything I have to keep you from harm. And it's not just me. I have and will make a lot of people vulnerable because of what I've asked them to do for you, and I'd do it all again because I love you. But have you forgotten who it was who saw you bruised, battered and broken that night and held you in his arms as you cried yourself to sleep? Don't you _dare_ accuse me of being like them."

He reaches up and places a hand on either side of my face, using his thumbs to wipe away my tears as he gazes into my eyes. I watch as his anger visibly fades.

"I'm sorry," I breathe, lifting my violently shaking hands up to cover his as my emotions finally overwhelm me and I sag against him. "I didn't mean what I said. I don't know why I said it. It's just that I expected… Well, you know what I expected, and when I saw you I felt ashamed of myself because I thought you'd made me break my agreement with the president and part of me was glad no matter the consequences."

"It's alright, Butterfly. It's alright. Nobody will hurt you again. I promise."

I cling tightly to him for so long that eventually my arms begin to ache, but I still refuse to be the first to let go. After an interminable amount of time he pushes me back and holds me away from him, looking me up and down appraisingly.

"I like your dress," he says. "I got Felix to make it. I thought you could wear it to Gloss's interview."

"It's perfect," I reply, pausing before a thought suddenly occurs to me and I speak again. "Hold on. That means that Felix knew what you'd done all along. He came to my apartment tonight and let me believe what I was thinking."

"Yes, he did. I made him promise not to tell you because I have no doubt that this place is being watched. If you strolled in looking like you hadn't a care in the world then I wouldn't be the only person who would suffer and I don't just mean your family."

"Are you ever going to tell me what's going on?"

"I want to tell you, but it isn't that simple. It's a very big and long story that I'm only a small part of."

I want to question him further but something about his expression and tone of voice tells me that I shouldn't, not yet anyway. So instead I take his hand and pull him down the corridor towards an open door I can see leads to the bedroom.

We get to that doorway and then he pulls me to a halt, leaning down to kiss the top of my head before stepping away.

"I'll see you in the morning," he says, smiling at the look of confusion and disappointment that I know crosses my face. "I've paid the president for you tonight, Cashmere, and for that reason I won't touch you."

"That doesn't matter. I don't care."

"But I do, so I will see you tomorrow."

I nod, sensing from the formality in his voice that this is an argument I'm not going to win, and he kisses me again before turning and walking back down the corridor. I know I shouldn't let it but my curiosity gets the better of me and I can't stop myself from calling after him.

"What did you tell him? How did you do this?"

"He likes people to be in his debt, you know that. He's always known I wanted you," he replies without stopping or looking at me. "I never did do a very good job of hiding that."

"Falco! Falco, come back!"

I call to him but he still doesn't stop. He keeps walking until he vanishes from my sight, only turning back when he puts his finger pointedly to his lips as he reaches the switch on the wall and turns the music off. I lean against the door, wishing I could go after him but knowing I shouldn't.

* * *

I wake in the morning to a persistent knocking at the door. I ignore it, still far too sleepy to really remember where I am, and it takes the door opening to make me fully aware of my surroundings.

"Get up," says Falco. "We're going back to the Training Centre."

"What time is it?" I ask as I throw myself from the bed before I suddenly realise the only thing I have to wear is the white dress.

"It's only just past dawn," he replies, passing me a less extravagant looking dress and a pair of shoes. "I realised last night that I broke my promise again. I can't tell you everything I would want to but I said 'no more lies' so I'll do my best."

"Why can't you tell me now?" I say, smiling gratefully as I take the clothes and swiftly put them on. He's leading me out of the apartment before he speaks again, and when he does, his voice is so quiet that I barely hear his words.

"Because it isn't something other people should hear."

"Oh," I reply, mentally berating at myself for not having a better response but remaining unsure what else to say.

Neither of us speak throughout the short journey back, and I am starting to forget his earlier promise to explain what's going on because of the thought of returning to my brother. However instead of walking down the corridor towards my district's rooms, he leads me through a set of doors which open out onto a narrow metal staircase.

"Where-"

"There are too many people to overhear what we say if we stay on Level One," he interrupts, the look he gives me telling me to say nothing more. "Your brother needs a strategy that his district partner isn't aware of."

I stare back at him even as we walk across the landing towards the stairs. What has this got to do with Gloss? We all know what his strategy is without having to talk about it in secret and we wouldn't have such a conversation without it's subject being present anyway.

Then he smirks at me and I suddenly understand. He thinks people might be listening to us right now, and he's using the pretence of discussing the Games to fool them into thinking that's why we're heading Panem knows where instead of going back to where we should already be.

The metal staircase clangs as I put my foot on the first step and I jump back onto the landing again, seeing a similar staircase from my past, a staircase that collapsed on me and my allies when we were in the arena that still haunts my nightmares even now. I feel like running away but I don't get far. Falco reaches out and takes my hand, pulling me up after him.

"I'm sorry, Butterfly. This is the best way."

I nod and take a deep breath, my need for answers just about overcoming my fear and my memories. The staircase seems to go on forever and I'm slightly breathless by the time we emerge into a small dome shaped room. Deciding that if Gloss and I survive the Games then I'll have to go back to training before I get too out of condition, I follow Falco through another door and onto the roof of the Training Centre.

It's strange up here. I can hear the cars and an occasional shout from the people down on the streets of the Capitol below, but louder than anything is a weird metallic ringing and something that sounds a lot like wind passing through the branches of trees. I watch as Falco walks away from me across the almost metallic-looking tiles, chasing after him when he vanishes from my sight.

At the same time as I see him again, I also see what looks like a small garden which seems to consist mostly of many potted, wind-chime covered trees. Well that explains the sounds I heard. Falco walks casually over to one of the trees and pulls a fallen branch from the pot. I follow him closely.

"They can't hear but they can probably see," he whispers. "Don't forget."

"I won't," I reply before fixing my unblinking gaze upon him in a way that I hope he takes as a signal to start explaining. "But why bring me here if we're being watched?"

"I couldn't think of anywhere better at short notice that wouldn't look a lot more suspicious than this."

"And what have we to talk about that could arouse suspicion?" I whisper, half teasing and half deadly serious.

"It's complicated," he begins. "Especially because I can't tell you everything."

"Tell me what you can and I'll see what I can work out."

"I…_purchased _you last night," he says, spitting his second word out like poison, "but I won't be able to keep doing so. Instead I have arranged for others to do the same as I did, on the full understanding that they won't get close to getting what they pay for even if they would want to."

"But how? Why would they do that?"

"That is the very thing I brought you here to explain," he says. "Some of them owe me a favour. Then I have made some of them see things my way with the usual method," he continues, smiling when I nod in response to tell me I assumed correctly that 'the usual method' means to him what it also means in District One, which is blackmail and threats. "But there are others whom I trust, friends who wish to help us in return for very little."

"Very little isn't nothing," I hiss. "Nobody does anything for nothing."

"Spoken like a true daughter of District One," he replies. "You miss nothing, do you?"

"I'm still alive, aren't I?" I tease. "Of course I don't."

He laughs briefly before abruptly becoming more serious. "Do you remember what you always tell me off for? What you think I shouldn't say?"

"Yes," I reply, knowing he's referring to how I silence him when he says things against the Capitol and Panem's ruler, knowing his words could easily be considered treasonous if they were overheard by the wrong people.

"I'm not the only one who thinks such things," he says, raising his hand to cover his mouth and pretending to cough. "There are others who feel the same, and there have been for as long as this Panem has existed."

I stare open-mouthed at him as I realise he's finally confirming what I have suspected for so long. There are people in the Capitol who don't support the president, and he is one of them.

"What does that have to do with me and my…_situation_?"

"As I'm sure you can imagine, communication of such…ideas is in no way easy to achieve. It is very, very risky to write anything down, and so a couple of the friends who are in on my plan to keep you safe from the president and his disgusting trade suggested you could…occasionally act as a messenger. They didn't want me to tell you even what I'm telling you now, but I won't let you walk blindly into this. I trust you with my life, Cashmere, and now we've had this conversation, my life is in your hands."

"Like anyone would believe me over you if I told anyone," I reply flatly, just about managing to keep my face from giving away my true emotions for a few seconds. Then I shake my head sadly, wishing I could reach out to him but remembering his warning and settling for wringing my hands together uncomfortably instead. "I'd never betray you," I whisper, "but it makes no sense. Who are you to even think such things?"

"I am nothing," he replies, "a tiny fish in a very big pond, but I am not alone. If the plan works then we might achieve what appears impossible."

"If you are nothing then who is something?" I ask, shocked that a man such as he would suddenly so readily declare himself unimportant. "Your little friend from yesterday?"

"Narissa?" he retorts incredulously. "Don't be absurd."

Something about his vehement denial tells me that I might not have been right but that I wasn't a million miles away either. However I say nothing, still trying to take in even what I'm sure is the relatively small amount of new information he's just given me.

"So if not her then who is it?"

He steps towards me, pretending to show me a small purple flower that is contained in an equally small pot, raising it up so I can take a closer look.

"Not here, Butterfly. Not now."

"When?"

"When it's a bit louder," he replies, and I know he means when he knows there's no chance of us being overheard.

Personally, I think we've both already said enough to sign our death warrants if anyone were to hear us, but I say nothing as we leave the roof and return to Level One. The president delights in the Hunger Games that kill twenty-three innocent children every year, and I'm sure that's nothing in comparison to the atrocities he sanctions across the country. He forced me to do whatever he wanted by threatening the lives of every person I love and proceeded to sell me to whoever would pay him what he asked. I'm still not convinced that Falco has outwitted and outmanoeuvred him and that it won't happen again. But worse than that, everything he has created and condoned has led to Gloss becoming a tribute, and for that reason alone, whether my brother lives or not, if there are people trying to bring him down then I will do what I can to help.

* * *

**Geth, if you're out there then I know you're thinking of telling me off now - shall I save you the bother and do it on your behalf? :P **


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

_They all cheer for Diamond as she returns to her chair on the stage, however as soon as she sits down they fall silent and I can sense their anticipation. Caesar Flickerman announces my brother and I watch as he rises gracefully to his feet, staring not at the famous host but out into the crowd, smiling softly and seeming to gaze at each and every one of them like there is nobody else there. _

_The upbringing Gloss and I had ensured we developed the ability to conceal our true feelings almost as soon as we learned to walk, but even I struggle to contain my shock at this display of acting ability. If I didn't know that he despises them all then I would be totally convinced that he loves being here simply for the pleasure of their company._

_He strolls casually over to a very orange Caesar, looking straight at each camera in turn as if he's done this thousands of times before. As my eyes follow him, I look at his outfit properly for the first time and I realise what Lucretia's done. For the Opening Ceremony she dressed him in a swirling and bejewelled cape so he appeared almost other-worldly, but for the interviews she's done the opposite. _

_The suit he wears could have been stolen from Falco's wardrobe, and everything, from the subtle sparkle of his rings and the way his tie isn't exactly tied straight, gives the impression that he isn't from the districts at all. He looks like a young man of the Capitol, rich, healthy and without a care in the world, and when I realise that I also realise that I underestimated Lucretia in a way she doesn't deserve. I tear my attention away from Gloss for a brief second to look at his stylist and she's already looking back at me. She nods once and then returns her focus to the stage, confirming to me how calculated this is. _

_There is nothing the Capitol people love more than themselves, and though they will never completely forget that he isn't one of them, when they look at him as he is now, a lot of them will be reminded of their brothers and their sons, of their unrealistic crushes and the subjects of their idle fantasies. They will want him to live because he's beautiful in a way they can understand, and nobody knows better than I do how that could be the difference between life and death._

"_So," says Caesar, "the second de Montfort to grace this stage in as many years, the third if you count your foster sister, Miss Beaufort-"_

"_I do," interrupts Gloss in an almost harsh tone, and my heart skips a beat as I think he's let the mask fall after only a few seconds at centre stage. "I loved her like a sister and that's what matters, not her name," he continues softly, and I sigh quietly with relief when I see that the crowd are once more hanging onto his every word._

"_Very wise words there, Gloss," replies Caesar, smiling indulgently at my brother. "Tell me, how did you feel when you were chosen for the Games? The famous and beautiful Cashmere de Montfort needs no introduction, but are you confident you will be able to emulate your sister?"_

"_I was pleased to be chosen," he says, looking away from his interviewer to scan the crowd in that strangely un-Gloss-like manner he seems to have perfected in a matter of minutes. "I've always wanted to come here and now I have my wish. I know I can win the Games and I'm looking forward to being able to celebrate my victory with you all."_

_I have to look away then, though I couldn't say whether it's to stop myself from laughing or crying. Deep down I know what Gloss is truly thinking and I know he hasn't really changed, but I barely recognise the young man sitting in the interviewee's chair. However what makes everything worse is that I can see a lot of the Capitol women in the audience and not a few of the men looking at him like he's a new outfit in a shop window that they want nothing more than to try on for size. I suppose they looked at me the same way, because I know they certainly do now, but it was different for me because I was ignorant of what my fate would be. Gloss knows and yet he still plays his role to perfection and he volunteered to do so because of me. I hate myself for not being able to act as well as he can, for not being able to conceal what was happening to me better so he never even realised something wasn't right._

_His interview passes very quickly after that, and Caesar asks him all the usual questions; What's your favourite thing about the Capitol? (Its people), Do you fear your competition? (No more than they fear me), Do you have someone waiting for you back home? (No, I don't). The only time that my brother stops casually flirting with the audience via the cameras is when Caesar asks him about me. Gloss falls silent for so long that I can tell his interviewer is about to prompt him again, and then he finally replies, telling the whole of Panem that he loves me and that he'll keep the promise he made. I can hear the audience buzzing when he refuses to divulge the details of that promise, which I know to be that he'll win and that he won't leave me, but he stubbornly ignores Caesar's persistence until eventually the buzzer sounds. The response he gets from the crowd as he makes his way back to his chair is overwhelming._

* * *

People always say that time has a habit of speeding up when you least want it to, and as I sit watching the second repeat of the replay of the interviews, I can confirm that as the truth. I don't know where the last three days have gone, and though I have spent every second possible with my brother, it could never be enough time.

I glance to my right to look at him and find he is already gazing at me. His expression is still more one of concern for me rather than fear for himself, and although nobody knows him better than I do, even I find myself wondering if he is far more worried by the prospect of the arena than he admits. He must be, for it would be virtually impossible for someone to be as indifferent as he would have everyone believe he is.

"We've got a better chance than most districts this year," says Fortune, making himself the first person to speak since the replay began. "Especially if Falco's still talking to prospective sponsors even now."

"We have," I reply once it becomes clear that nobody else is going to, however I say nothing more.

Gloss was given a training score of nine by the Gamemakers, just like I was, and Diamond was given eight, just like Sheen was. I've been trying to ignore the repetition ever since, attempting to focus on the positives, such as that at least the girl from Two didn't emulate Dahlia and score eleven. In fact nobody scored eleven this year. The highest was the ten given to Theodorus, the man from District Two, followed by my brother, Megaera and Pelagia's nines.

The tall, strong and slightly strange-looking male tribute from District Six was given eight, which for someone from a lesser district like him is the equivalent of someone from my district scoring eleven or twelve. I tell Gloss to watch for him but I know by the look on his face that he doesn't see him as a threat and is merely humouring me. I wish he wouldn't, I wish he would think about each and every one of the others in the same way as he views Theodorus and Megaera from Two, but at the same time I know that he won't, not before he gets into the arena. I know that because I remember enough of my Games to know I didn't even think about the vast majority of my fellow tributes at all.

"At least the difficult part's over," whispers Gloss so only I can hear him. "I can't stand the way they all look at us."

"The difficult part?" I retort, not speaking anywhere near as quietly. "The difficult part? You're going into the arena tomorrow and you call the interview the difficult part?"

"Of course. Did you see Caesar Flickerman's hair? Can you imagine how hard it was for me to answer his questions seriously when his hair was so orange that he looked radioactive?"

"Gloss," I hiss sternly even as I attempt to hide how I am trying desperately hard not to laugh despite the situation. He just smirks back at me, telling me that my attempts have failed dismally.

"Right then," says Fortune as he pushes himself out of his armchair and turns the television off. "Early start in the morning for you two so you should go and get some sleep while you can. Good luck, Diamond," he continues, directing his attention to the girl he's supposed to be mentoring for probably the first time this evening.

"Thank you," she replies stiffly, rising to her feet and swiftly leaving the room without a backward glance. Her mentor follows but I clearly see them head off in different directions without exchanging so much as a word.

Once again I can't help feeling sorry for her, but that doesn't last for long when the clock on the mantelpiece strikes twelve for midnight and I realise my brother will be on his way to the arena in only a few short hours. I get up and start to walk towards the door, telling myself that a long and teary goodbye will only make everything worse and that I would be better off doing what Fortune did and simply walking away. I get less than halfway there before I stop, suddenly unable to take another step.

"Cash? Are you leaving?"

I turn around to see Gloss still sitting on the sofa, his knees tucked up to his chest as he hugs them tightly and stares back at me. For a second he doesn't look like the young man who is strong enough and can fight well enough to score a nine in Hunger Games training. For a second he looks like the boy I remember, the boy who used to sit in exactly the same position, gazing up at me with wide brown eyes as I told him tales of who said what to who when I went out shopping to the main square back home. I know then that even though it might be best if I do, I can't walk away and leave him alone to deal with this final night before the Games begin for real.

"No, little brother. I'm not going anywhere."

He smiles and lifts his arm so I can curl up against him, which I do immediately, forcing myself not to cling to him too strongly because I know that if I do then he will know I'm afraid. He doesn't speak but I don't really expect him to. He's always been a man of few words and it will take more than volunteering for the Games to change that.

"Are you awake?" he asks me eventually.

"No," I tell him with a smile as I look up at the clock to see that it's half-past two in the morning.

"Very funny," he retorts, allowing me to pull back enough so I can look up at him.

"Are you scared?" I ask after a few more minutes of silence.

"No," he replies, mimicking my earlier tone of voice exactly.

"You're lying," I say a lot more seriously. "I know you are because I remember how scared I was this time last year. So you can talk to me. You don't have to lie."

He sighs deeply. "Yes, Cashmere, I'm terrified. I'm so scared that if I let myself think about tomorrow then my heart races and my head spins and I can think of nothing else. But I made my choice and I don't regret it. I'm not dead yet so I'll keep fighting. Then they won't be able to hurt you again."

"Falco bought me last night," I whisper. "Did you know that?"

"Yes," he replies instantly. "That's what we were talking about before training. He told me because he knew I'd worked out what the invitation meant and he thought I'd do something stupid if he didn't."

"And would you have?"

"Of course," he replies with a grin. "You're my sister and I love you. I'd kill anyone who laid a hand on you against your will. Well actually, to be honest I'd kill virtually anyone who laid a hand on you regardless of your will because I'm your brother and that's what brothers do, but that isn't the point."

"I love you too," I tell him, not knowing what else to say. "But you must promise me you won't even think about doing anything you shouldn't, no matter what happens."

"If I get through this alive then I can't promise you anything. If I did then what would be the point of becoming a tribute in the first place?"

I open my mouth to argue, to tell him that he can't be so stupid, but the words don't come out. As much as I try not to think about it, I know this could be the last time I see him alive and I don't want to spend the remaining time we have left arguing. There will be time for that when this is all over.

"Where's Falco?" he asks. "He's been gone since before the interviews started."

"Sponsors," I reply, trying not to think about that one too closely either. "He had appointments with a couple of people so he said he'd be late."

"Who?" he asks, and I suddenly realise he wants to know who will think they own a piece of him if he lives.

"I don't know. Honestly. I don't care either, just as long as you stay alive."

"I will. I told you before and I'll promise you again; I will see you again, Cashmere, I promise."

Whether it's his words or his tone of voice, I don't know, but something he does or says makes me snap inside, makes whatever it was that had been holding me together since the day of the reaping shatter into a thousand pieces as my tears begin to fall and I throw myself into his arms.

"But I don't want you to go! I don't want you to leave me. Please, Gloss…please…don't leave me…"

"Shh," he breathes, rubbing my back with a shaking hand as he clings to me. "Don't cry, Cashmere. Don't cry."

I pull him even closer and am shocked to feel the wetness of his tears on my shoulder. "Hypocrite," I tell him teasingly, my breath coming out in ragged gasps as I try to pull myself together.

"Takes one to know one," he retorts just as teasingly, trying to appear strong again. I try to pretend I don't notice the way his eyes flick nervously to the clock as it strikes four.

We don't speak after that, probably because there's nothing left to say that hasn't been said already. There's no going back and we've both known that since the day he won the race to the stage, but I can't help thinking that it's been too late to stop this since that same race was run two years ago, since a dark-haired girl called Sapphire Beaufort won and then lost so soon after. As I lie curled up on the sofa with my brother I wonder if we'd have been happy if none of us had volunteered, if Sapphire and I had allowed my father to marry us off to whoever he chose and then eventually decided to do the same to Gloss. I guess I will never know, but it doesn't seem anything like the horror story it did when I was too naïve to know any better.

* * *

We both jump in response to the knock on the door and I instinctively tighten my grip on Gloss's shirt before Lucretia has even walked into the room.

"It's time, Gloss," says his stylist quietly. "I think there's quite a way to go this year so they're starting out early."

He takes a deep breath and stands up, confirming how much training he did before the reaping by taking me with him and effortlessly setting me on my feet beside him. It reassures me slightly, which I'm sure was his intention.

"I'll see you on the other side then, sister mine," he whispers, keeping his voice low so Lucretia doesn't hear as she waits by the door.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak and not to cry. I reach up behind me and unfasten the clasp on my necklace before holding it out to him.

"I know you said you didn't need a district token but I want you to wear this. For me and for Sapphire."

He swallows as if he too is struggling not to cry and then slowly shakes his head. "I can't, Cash. The review board haven't sanctioned it."

"They have. I sent it to them without you knowing. And besides, they've seen it twice before already. They're probably sick of the sight of it."

I hold it up again and this time he takes it, turning around so I can fasten the delicate clasp before facing me again and pulling his shirt collar down to show me. I smile for the first time since Lucretia arrived when I see how out of place the jewel looks against his muscular neck and shoulders.

"I'll bring it back to you," he says, embracing me once again.

"You'd better," I retort, walking with him as he follows Lucretia from the room so he doesn't have to let me go.

"Please, Cashmere," says the Capitolian woman. "We'll be late if we don't go now."

Then I let my brother go, maintaining only my death grip on his hand. "I love you."

"I love you," he echoes, and then he is gone.

The door swings closed behind him and I wait until I can no longer hear his footsteps as he walks down the corridor to the lifts. I sink to my knees and then down further until I lie on the floor with my knees tucked tightly to my chest, shaking with the force of the sobs that rack my entire body.

* * *

I don't know how long I lie there for, but the morning light is beginning to shine through the massive window before I hear the soft knock at the door. I ignore it so it sounds again, louder and more persistent this time, and when it swings slowly open and Falco appears, I am sharply reminded of another door that he pushed open to find me in a state something like this. That memory doesn't make me feel any better.

"He's gone, Falco. Lucretia came early and he's gone," I say through my tears.

"I know," he replies in a low voice. "I know."

He walks the short distance over to me and leans down, holding out his hand to me so he can help me stand, but I can't do it. I can't take his hand and pull myself to my feet. I can't watch as my brother fights for his life in an arena I don't even know the first thing about. How can I help him when I can barely help myself?

Falco straightens but doesn't move back, staring thoughtfully down at me, not looking away for even a second. The last thing I expect is for his eyes to narrow as he begins to speak in a tone a lot harsher than the one I usually hear.

"Do you want your brother to die, Cashmere?"

"What?" I stutter in reply. "Of course I don't. How can you even say such a thing?"

His expression softens slightly as I drop my gaze and my tears start yet again, but he remains still.

"Last year I had to watch as someone I love went into the arena. I was a coward and I walked away without saying goodbye. I went to the nearest bar and attempted to drown my sorrows in drink. Then someone found me and told me that what I was doing wasn't the answer, and that if I wanted you to live then I had to fight for you. Now it's your turn. I am that person who has found you and is telling you that you can't lie here on the floor and hope Gloss makes it out alive. You of all people should know that hope isn't always enough in the Games. You of all people should know you have to fight."

He holds out his hand to me again and I stare silently up at him for several seconds, but this time I reach out to him and he pulls me up quickly before wiping my tears from my cheeks.

"Don't let them see you cry, Butterfly," he whispers. "We have a little game to win."

"Have they arrived at the arena yet? Where are we going?" I ask frantically as he takes my hand and we literally run from the room and down the corridor to the lifts.

"Where do you think we're going?" he replies, lifting his other hand so he can look at his watch. "The Control Room will be activated in less than five minutes. Then we will see if my campaigning for sponsors has paid off."

I don't waste time and effort by trying to reply because as soon as he falls silent the bell rings and the doors slide open. He sweeps out of the lift in front of me and we leave the Training Centre, heedless of the reporters and camera crews who are all desperately attempting to catch our attention. As I step out into the bright morning sun to the accompaniment of equally bright camera flashes, I can't help feeling relieved that I managed to remember to let go of Falco's hand just in time.

* * *

The Control Room building looks as forbidding as it did on the previous occasions I've been here. Despite the warm summer day, the temperature seems to drop as I get closer to it and it appears almost veiled in shadows even though the sun still shines fiercely down upon our heads.

"Are we late?" I ask Falco as we approach the entrance doors.

"A little," he replies, nodding confidently to the few Peacekeepers who remain stationed between the two glass panels as we keep walking.

I smile slightly when I recognise the young man I saw the night I came here for the first time. His eyes flick to mine but otherwise his expression doesn't change.

"Where does that go?" I ask, hoping that Falco doesn't get fed up of my questions as I stare at the ornately carved gold staircase that leads upwards but not down.

"The Gamemakers have the upstairs and the mentors the ground. Don't even think about going up there or I'll kill you myself."

Something about his tone of voice makes me nod obediently and turn my attention away from the staircase to the second set of doors. We walk into the Control Room and everyone turns to stare at us, a deadly silence suddenly enveloping the room.

I stare back at them, determined not to show fear or whatever else it is they are expecting from the girl who is mentoring her brother in her first year as a victor. A lot of them, mostly those I barely recognise, look away and are unable to meet my gaze, but my eyes soon travel to District Two's part of the room to find Tiberius and Ursala staring right back at me. The old lady from District Four who I recall is called Mags and is the one who mentored Finnick Odair also catches my attention. I swiftly look away from her to the man who sits by her side, mentally sighing with relief when I see he isn't the boy who murdered my sister.

"So you're here to watch your brother die then, de Montfort?" calls Tiberius from across the room. "I was starting to think you didn't have the courage."

Falco starts to step in his direction but I reach out and grasp his wrist to stop him, letting go as soon as I can and hoping that everyone is too distracted by Tiberius to notice.

"If he dies then it won't be at the hands of your tribute, Silvestri," I snarl back, subconsciously using his surname like Dahlia used to when she spoke to Corvinus. However I soon realise it's also how she used to address him if his expression is anything to go by, and it's a struggle to stop myself from looking away. "I'll be very surprised if he has the intelligence to figure out how to leave his podium when the starting gong sounds."

Haymitch Abernathy, the perpetually drunk winner of the second Quarter Quell and District Twelve's sole surviving victor laughs loudly and for far too long, but everyone else in the room remains silent. Most of the other mentors are looking at their monitoring screens rather than at Tiberius or I, and their body language gives me the impression that they are used to such behaviour from the infamous 'Career Districts'.

I watch as Ursala hits her fellow mentor with what looks like bruising force even though he barely reacts and then head in the direction of my own computer, grateful when the low buzz of several different conversations happening at the same time restarts and I am no longer the centre of attention.

Just as Falco and I sit down and I reach towards the control panel in front of me, I'm hit by a wall of sound when a claxon goes off at the same time as all of the screens light up and the lights start flashing. I fly back in my chair and only Falco's grip on the arm stops me from propelling myself across the room. The walls seem to close in on me and the sounds of the place that has haunted my nightmares for over a year fill my thoughts, convincing me that I'm back There and that there's an audience waiting for the next cannon to fire.

"Cashmere, stop. Cashmere, the arena's gone. You'll never have to go back there again. It's over. Cashmere, breathe. Please stop."

Eventually Falco's quiet words sink in and I become aware of my surroundings enough to see him leaning on the arm of my chair he had been holding. I stare into his eyes and don't look away when I realise how focussing on him seems to make the memories of last year fade.

Once I notice that the lights have stopped flashing and the room is virtually silent once more, my breathing returns to normal. My heart sinks when I see that the majority of the other mentors are staring at me. They have a range of expressions on their faces, from amusement to pity, and it's those who appear to feel sorry for me that I resent the most. It's not supposed to be like this. My brother will soon be fighting for his life and I have to help him. How can I do that if I'm having panic attacks again?

I turn back to Falco and he smiles slightly, not needing to speak to ask me if I'm okay. I manage to nod in response before my attention is taken by Fortune's laughter.

"A bit of an overreaction, don't you think? They were only testing the lights."

"What's it to you?" I snap back, relieved to hear something like my familiar scorn in my voice.

"It doesn't exactly give the right impression, does it?"

"Perhaps not, but I think you'll find you're the disgrace to our district not me. I hope you feel guilty when Diamond dies, because you've done precious little to help her."

He stares resolutely at his computer screen in response to that, saying nothing in reply, so I don't push it further and return to my own screen. Gloss has a lot of money pledged to him, and though I'm glad to see it because he might need it to survive in the arena, part of me can't help wanting to know who has provided it and what they will want in return.

"Most are people I know and trust," whispers Falco, seeming to read my mind. "Narissa helped a little," he adds, his tone of voice giving me every impression that it was a bit more than a little.

"Why?" I retort, snarling even though I keep my voice low. He laughs, which only makes me scowl more. "I mean it. Why?"

"Because I asked her to. And because she didn't want you to lose your brother."

"Why?" I repeat.

"You know why," he replies cryptically, making me stop to think.

Narissa's involved in what I can only call 'The Rebellion', as is Falco, and they want me to assist them, I know that. However I'm not vain enough to think I'm important enough to someone like Narissa for her to attempt to keep Gloss alive because of me, so there must be another reason. I think for a minute before an idea suddenly occurs to me. A rebellion cannot totally succeed if it exists in the Capitol alone. For their plan to work, they need support in the districts, and who is better placed in District One than my family? Nothing is going to happen overnight and I told Falco about how Gloss and I were getting on slightly better with Satin. My father isn't going to live forever and if my elder sister is able to maintain her position in our district's society then she will be a force to be reckoned with. Perhaps this isn't about Gloss and I at all but about Gloss and Satin instead.

"I think I do," I whisper eventually, and he smiles even as he gives me the 'don't talk about it here' look. I glare at him to tell him he needn't bother and his smile only gets wider.

I pull my chair forwards again and place my hand back on the control panel. The screen springs to life instantly and I see that the graphs showing the sponsorship money has changed again. Gloss has even more than before and he has a lot more than Diamond. As for the other tributes, I can't begin to guess as I can't see the other districts' screens, but the fact Gloss and Theodorus are joint favourites in the betting tells me enough of what I need to know that I get the general idea.

"Now what?"

"We wait."

* * *

The next hour or so passes slowly, with everyone speaking only in hushed voices, usually to speculate about what horrors the Gamemakers have planned for this year. Not that those words are used, as nobody would be that stupid in a place like this, but we all know what everyone else is thinking. I look at my watch for what must be the thousandth time, partly wanting time to slow down and partly wanting it to speed up so it's all over.

Then the whole room goes dark as every one of the television screens blacks out and the lights all go off.

"What's happening?" I whisper, grasping Falco's wrist tightly in panic as all of the lights on the control panels start to flash rapidly.

"This is it," he replies. "It's time."

The lights switch back on first, filling the entire Control Room with a strange, dim glow that does nothing to settle my nerves. After a few seconds the screens change from black to white, and I turn to Falco in absolute horror as the camera gradually focuses on the shining golden Cornucopia. This is the arena. A vast expanse of bleak and snow-covered wasteland. I shiver even though it's a little bit too warm in here.

"He's always cold," I breathe, talking to myself as much as to Falco. I can tell by his grim expression that he heard me even though he says nothing.

I watch with a growing sense of dread as the thick snow that had still been falling abruptly clears and the metal podiums rise up to bring the tributes into the arena.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Sixty-seventh Hunger Games begin!"

I barely hear Claudius Templesmith begin the sixty second countdown to the start of the inevitable bloodbath, because at that moment the camera zooms in on my brother's face so he seems to gaze at me from all sides and corners of the room. At first glance he looks calm and emotionless, and I have no doubt that is how the other mentors and the watching Capitol audience will see him, but I don't need to look at the little heart monitor that's attached to the bottom of the screen in front of me to know that he's scared. I can tell from the look in his eyes as he takes in his surroundings.

I stare unblinkingly at the sapphire pendant at his throat until the camera moves away from him and shows us Diamond, who is trembling slightly on her podium. Whether that's from fear or because of the cold, I couldn't possibly say.

I cry out when the starting gong sounds, loudly enough to make Fortune, Tiberius, Ursala and Beetee from District Three turn to look at me before they rapidly return their attention to the arena. I sense Falco is about to say something but then he changes his mind. I'm not surprised. What could there possibly be to say now?

The majority of the tributes stumble off their podiums into the thick snow, and I immediately see how much it's hampering their movements. It's enough to make them look awkward but not enough to stop them from fighting and giving the audience a show. How typical of the Capitol.

Gloss fares better than most because he's tall and strong enough for it to not impede him too much but also light enough not to be dragged down like a couple of the larger tributes seem to be. He quickly reaches the Cornucopia and pulls a sword from a small pile by the golden horn's entrance. I breathe a small sigh of relief, but it doesn't last long and my heart is soon racing again.

There's always so much happening in the first battle of the Games that the cameras never stay in one place for long, and the snow makes it even harder to follow what's going on. I see the male tributes from Two and Four, Theodorus and Nicon, cutting down everyone in their path, I see many others struggling to collect what they can of what had been scattered around the Cornucopia, and then I see the man from District Six fight his way to the pile of weapons and grab a spear before throwing a pack onto his shoulder and fleeing the carnage. The one person I don't see is my brother. Where are you, Gloss? Where are you?

I focus my attention on the small computer screen in front of me instead of the nearest massive wall-mounted television in the hope that the one I know is always meant to be following my brother will show me what's happening to him. However I am disappointed to see the same picture that everyone's seeing. It seems not even the Capitol can separate one tribute from another in the chaos they have engineered.

Then I see him, just for a few seconds, and he's fighting a tribute I don't recognise, blocking his access to the supplies in the Cornucopia but never dealing the final killing strike. I find myself wishing Gloss would just kill his opponent, just sink his blade into his heart so it's over and there's no chance of him fighting back. That's when I truly realise I don't care what my brother does in the arena as long as he comes back to me.

"It looks like my girl's doing your brother's work for him," calls Ursala a short time later as Megaera races past the front of the golden horn, throwing a spear at the boy Gloss is fighting as she goes.

I hear her but I can't seem to open my mouth to reply, and I continue to stare at the screen as the battle finally begins to subside. I look around at Falco when he clears his throat and pointedly gestures to my hands. It's only then that I notice the death grip I have on the front of the control panel, and it takes me several attempts to make myself release it.

The background noise of the other mentors' conversations starts up again as the fighting stops and the allies from the three districts who train their tributes begin to sort through the supplies. I lean back in my chair and watch the massive wall-mounted screen in front of me, which seems to focus on the goings on at the Cornucopia while smaller screens show the other tributes who escaped the bloodbath as they continue to flee for their lives. It's over. He's alive.

The snow has started again, and the sight of how the wind blows the flakes makes me shiver even though I'm safe in the warm Control Room. It is plain to see how inadequate the coats the Gamemakers have put the tributes in are and how much Gloss is shivering as he stands as if in shock, staring around at the ground in front of the golden horn where the dead still lie.

"It looks like Little Brother doesn't have your killer instinct, District One," taunts Tiberius, once again ignoring Ursala's quietly violent attempts to silence him. "He won't last long in there."

"I look forward to the day he proves you wrong and the trumpets sound to tell the whole of Panem he is victorious," I call back, looking straight at him and hoping the doubts I desperately wish I didn't feel don't show in my voice or expression.

He says nothing, which tells me he suspects nothing, but I know Falco will see right through me and he doesn't disappoint me.

"He'll be himself again in a minute," he says quietly. "He's in shock."

"I'd be more worried about him if he wasn't," I reply, the sight of the pools of blood staining the snow-covered ground making me remember the first day of my Games. "He shouldn't be there, Falco. Tiberius is right."

"He'll fight to get back to you."

I stare into his dark eyes without saying anything, knowing that he speaks the truth. Gloss hates fighting, he always has, but he will fight anyway because it's the only way he will be able to keep the promise he made to me, it's the only way he will be able to win. When I finally tear my eyes away from Falco's it's only to look into my brother's as he stares out at me through the screen. He will fight to get home, that is true, but at what cost to himself? I know better than anyone how the arena changes everything. I know better than anyone how nothing is ever the same after you have been reaped for the Hunger Games, not even if you survive. I only hope the cost to Gloss isn't more than he can bear.

* * *

**_Sorry I haven't had time for many review replies this time around - 'real-life' kind of took over ;) Don't let that stop you from leaving me a comment though, whether you've never left me a review before or are one of the fabulous people who have been following this since the beginning. I think by now you will be able to see where I'm going with Gloss's Games..._**


	13. Chapter 13

**_Before I let you get on with the story I'd like to say thank you to reviewers old and new for leaving me the most reviews I've ever had for a single chapter in a one week - thank you, you're all fabulous and I hope you let me know what you think of this one too... :)_**

**_On with the arena then... I'm sure you'll all know where this fits in with canon when you've read this one ;)_**

Chapter Thirteen

It's quiet in here now the first battle is over. A lot of those whose tributes fell have left, perhaps because they feel unable to bear continuing to watch, or else simply because there's nothing more they can do and they know it. It's late now, well past dusk, and as I look around the massive room I notice that even some of the mentors whose tributes still live have gone.

The majority of them seem to work in shifts and watch both tributes in the absence of their partner, but I wouldn't dream of trusting Fortune with Gloss's life, not even for a second. Not that my fellow mentor is here for me to trust even if I wanted to. He disappeared almost as soon as the last tribute fled the Cornucopia and he didn't say when he'd return. Falco's gone as well. He left about an hour ago to attend a meeting, leaving me alone at the District One station. I wish he'd hurry up and come back.

I refocus my gaze onto the screen in front of me and realise this is how Gloss must be feeling too. Alone and cold and utterly bewildered by what he just lived through. I should know, because this time last year it was me who was next to the Cornucopia and I recall feeling all of those things.

The so-called 'Careers' are still by the golden horn, and Megaera and Nicon are still arguing over the division of the supplies, which is exactly what they've been doing for at least the past three hours. Theodorus paces around and around through the snow, pausing only to continue taunting Gloss, who seems to care nothing for his cruel and mocking words and actually gives no indication at all that he even hears him. My brother also ignores Pelagia, who sits a short distance away from him beside the small fire she managed to start by breaking up one of the crates she took from inside the Cornucopia and somehow setting it alight. She lets him share what little warmth it provides without comment.

Gloss stares unseeingly into the flames, his face totally expressionless, and I feel like I could cry just from looking at him. He's never been outgoing or loud, but he's always been so full of life in his own quiet way, and to look at him now…he looks dead inside. Without thinking I reach towards the screen, brushing the back of my hand across his cheek, which is flushed pink with the cold. I jump back when I feel the smooth, flat glass of the computer and then shake my head at myself in disgust at my reaction.

"Are you still with us, District One?" taunts Theodorus, making me jump again and jerk my head up so I can see him on the main wall-mounted screen. "If the sight of blood does this to you then maybe you don't have a place with us. I think you should kill the next one we find. That's if you're not too pathetic. You need to prove yourself to me, District One, or I'll have to add your name to my kill list a bit earlier than I thought."

I hiss at the screen in impotent fury, gripping the control panel so hard that my hand starts shaking, but Gloss still doesn't react. He doesn't even blink, he just sits there shivering. This can't carry on. I'm his mentor, I have to do something. I wish that I could talk to him, that I could say something to make him snap out of whatever nightmare is holding him in it's grasp so he can come back to himself and fight for his life, but I know it's impossible and it would never be allowed. There must be something I can do.

I reach for the screen again just as the glass doors slide open and Falco strides across the room towards me. By the time he sits down in Fortune's chair as if it's his own, I'm frantically pushing buttons on the computer and hoping I remember how to do this properly.

"What are you doing?"

"Seeing if Miss Capitol Beauty's given my brother enough money for me to send him a decent coat."

He raises his eyebrows disapprovingly at my mocking nickname for his friend but he says nothing and reaches across me to push a few more buttons on the screen. I watch his movements closely, trying to memorise exactly what he did.

"If you're going to get him one then I'd do it now. Before the prices go up too much."

I nod grimly. "I have to do something. He looks like he's given up."

I sigh deeply and search through the list of available gifts, selecting the best coat I can realistically afford and then dragging the picture of it across the screen so it rests over Gloss's photo. The cost is deducted from our total instantly, and seconds later I hear Pelagia shout as she sees the parachute. Not for the first time I find myself wishing I understood how the Gamemakers make everything happen so quickly.

The parcel lands very precisely onto Gloss's lap and immediately tumbles to the floor when he doesn't respond.

"Please, Gloss," I whisper, leaning forwards to get closer to the screen even though the logical part of my mind knows he will never hear me. "Open it. You have to open it."

I can see the other tributes staring at the silver parachute and exchanging glances, and it takes Theodorus stepping towards it to make my brother reach down and grab it before ripping off the packaging. He unfolds the coat and puts it on straight away, staring down at it for several minutes as if struggling to accept that he has it.

"Thanks, Cash," he says, somehow managing to look directly into a camera. He smiles slightly for the first time since the Games started.

"You're welcome, little brother," I reply quietly, speaking just as the cannons start to fire.

* * *

They fired ten cannons following the first battle of the Sixty-seventh Hunger Games, and despite the needless deaths, in a way I was and still am relieved. Ten will be seen as neither too many nor too few by the Capitol audience, and therefore the Gamemakers will be unlikely to interfere. Gloss is suffering enough without them introducing yet another form of torment.

"Are you going to stay there for the entire duration of the Games?" asks a quiet voice, interrupting my sleep-deprived and increasingly jumbled thoughts.

"What's it to you?" I snap back without really looking to see who was speaking. When I see it's Beetee from District Three who stands there, staring down at me with his usual kind expression, I smile as much as I can and shrug my shoulders. "He needs me."

"He's doing well enough on his own. I'm sure he'd want you to get some rest."

I shrug my shoulders again and keep staring at the big wall-mounted screen in front of me. Gloss and his allies are sat around the fire they have only moved away from for their brief hunting expeditions, which have led to the firing of two cannons so far. Nearly three days have passed since the Games started and my brother's kill list is still empty.

"I won't leave him on his own," I tell Beetee firmly, watching as Theodorus and Nicon continue to snipe and jibe at Gloss, something they do all the more because he continues to ignore them completely.

"Is your brother deaf?" asks Mags, calling across the room. "You're not very alike, are you? Both of those boys would be dead if they spoke to you like that."

"They're not worth it and he knows that. He won't kill unless he has to."

"He'll have to soon," she replies ominously, her confident and knowing words a complete contrast to her age-withered appearance.

I say nothing and turn away, knowing deep down that she's right. It's only a matter of time.

* * *

"Cashmere?"

"What's happened? Where's Gloss?" I reply, sitting up instantly and frantically scanning the television screens that surround me. "How long have I been asleep?"

"It's okay," says Falco soothingly. "Nothing's happened. He's asleep. Look," he adds, pointing to my computer.

"I shouldn't have gone to sleep."

"You've barely left this room for three days. Even you have to sleep. Why don't you go? I'll stay here for a few hours. I'll tell you if anything happens."

"I'm not leaving," I reply immediately.

"Get some sleep, Cashmere. Please. You'll make yourself ill."

"I'm not leaving. Not while he's in that place."

"Then sleep there," he tells me resignedly, passing me his jacket after folding it up like a pillow.

I nod but I'm looking at the screen not at him, and he soon follows the direction of my concerned gaze.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't like that," I reply. "She's too close to him."

Even as I watch, Pelagia from District Four turns over in her sleep and shifts closer to Gloss under their shared blanket. They're so close that her tightly curled dark hair blows in the wind to cover his hand, but though he twitches in response, he doesn't wake and neither does she.

"I didn't like you and Rossetti but you knew what you were doing and I'm sure your brother knows too. But send him another blanket if it bothers you that much. He's a smart man, he'll work it out."

"It bothers me," I say flatly, reaching for the screen and pushing buttons.

Seconds later the parachute bearing the blanket lands on Gloss's head and he's on his feet instantly with fear in his eyes and his sword raised. I feel guilty for startling him like that but it doesn't last long because at the same time as he realises what woke him he also sees Pelagia. She wakes when he wraps the rest of his old blanket tightly around her before taking the new one and moving a short distance away, and for a brief second I can see the disappointment she feels written all over her face. When I look across at the District Four station I see that Mags looks disappointed too and that she isn't trying to hide it like her tribute is.

"My brother isn't Corvinus Rossetti, Mags. That plan won't work."

"You can't blame me," replies the old woman, shaking her head slightly. "It was worth a try, wasn't it?"

"I suppose it was," I say, somehow unable to speak to Pelagia's mentor with anything like my usual acidity.

"How many times will I have to say it, Cashmere? Go to sleep."

I turn back to Falco in response to his voice, thinking once again how odd it sounds to hear him call me by my proper name when he isn't annoyed at me. It's usually 'Butterfly' or nothing and I still can't get used to 'Cashmere'.

"I'll go and get you something to eat."

"If you leave and there's nobody watching Gloss then I'll never forgive you."

He holds up his hands in surrender. "Fine, I won't go anywhere. I'm sure Mags will be happy to keep an eye on me and make sure I keep my word while you sleep," he says, smiling in her direction.

I look from him to the woman from the fishing district, getting the impression that they aren't complete strangers to each other like I previously thought they were. Mags stares back at me, her hazel eyes twinkling with amusement, and when I return my attention to Falco, he smirks and turns to face the computer, refusing to say anything further.

* * *

When I wake up, stretching and reaching behind myself to rub my aching neck and shoulders, I see that my computer screen is focused on Gloss as he sits in front of the fire eating a packet of crackers.

"Where did he get the crackers from?" I ask Falco sleepily as I stretch again and wish we weren't in the middle of the Control Room so I didn't have to either sleep against a desk bent double in a chair or massage my own shoulders.

"I sent them," he replies, not turning to look at me. "He looked hungry."

I follow the direction of his gaze without saying anything in reply and quickly find that every single wall-mounted screen in the room is fixed upon a single tribute, who seems to be sheltering in a cave, clinging to his spear and muttering to himself in a voice so low that not even the Capitol technology can pick up his words properly.

Something about his cramped posture as he crouches on the floor and the way his eyes move rapidly but unseeingly from side to side tells me that he isn't quite sane. He reminds me a little of the girl from District Eleven who went mad when I was There and was eventually killed by the muttations, only this man isn't a weak and frightened little girl, he is a grown man who holds that spear in a way that makes him look like he knows how to use it. I shudder as his head jerks up as if he heard a cannon fire and he scans the cave entrance, his eyes wide. There was no sound, at least not anywhere but in his mind.

"Is that District Six?" I ask quietly and Falco nods in response.

I look anxiously at him and he looks back at me, neither of us speaking even though I know he's thinking the same thing. We know next to nothing about the boy. His reaping was unremarkable, he said very little in his interview and his mentor certainly isn't going to say a lot about him. He probably knows less than I do, which is a thought that's very easy to believe when I look across the room to see him slumped in his chair, his eyes half-closed and his face blank.

Morphling, that's what the gossips say, and I can believe it's the truth. Many victors turn to alcohol and drugs as a means of escape. It isn't talked about but it isn't unusual. Panem knows I thought about it myself, not because of the Games but because of what happened after. During the days that immediately followed that night I came to the city slightly more than two months ago I would have done anything to forget, so I can understand why that man whose name I can't even remember would seek out oblivion.

* * *

The cameras continue to divide their focus between the man from District Six and my brother and his allies, however nothing happens as the hours pass by. I'm grateful that it's the middle of the night because that means most of the Capitolians will either be asleep or out partying and therefore not sparing much of a thought for the Games. I somehow don't think District Six's ceaseless ramblings or Theodorus's continued attempts to provoke a reaction out of my brother would have kept the mob amused for long if it had been midday, and everyone knows what that would mean.

"What's your tribute got against my brother?" I snarl at Tiberius when he passes my desk on his way out of the room after swapping shifts with a very tired-looking Ursala.

"Does he need a reason?" he replies harshly, not pausing once.

"Theodorus has always been a bully, Cashmere," says Ursala quietly as soon as the doors slide shut behind her counterpart. "He keeps tormenting your brother because it drives him mad that he doesn't react."

"But why Gloss?" I ask, suspecting that I already know the answer to my own question.

"Nicon supports him so he isn't the victim himself. Theodorus knows that and likes it because it makes him feel powerful. He's grown up with Meg, so he knows better than to antagonise her. With Tiberius as his mentor, I'm sure it didn't take long for him to pick up his resentment of you and yours, so… But I have to admit that Tiberius has a point, District One," she continues in a very different tone of voice. "This is the Hunger Games. Does he need a reason?"

I shake my head and smile wryly, conceding that she's right at the same time as deciding that if it was me in that arena then either my cannon or Theodorus's would have fired by now. But my brother isn't like me. He doesn't react instinctively and immediately. He will take it and take it until he finally snaps, and I know it's only a matter of time before the man from Two finds that out. I just hope he's unprepared when it happens, because he is to Gloss what Dahlia was to me, and that means I wouldn't fancy my brother's chances in a fair fight.

* * *

There are no windows in this place, at least not ones that would let in genuine sunlight, so the only way I know the time is by looking at the clock above the door. As I look up, I see the young man from District Four whose name I can't remember striding across the room before attempting to order Mags to bed. Despite his increasingly forceful attempts, it's perfectly obvious who is in charge and I smile at the sight of them. Earlier on I'd asked the old woman why she didn't let her partner be the one to stay up all night after I'd heard him offer to on at least ten occasions. She'd grinned back at me and asked me what the point of that would be when she can never sleep at night anyway.

Then I turn away from the District Four station and back to Falco, and we talk in whispers about where we might go from here, about what Gloss's strategy should be and if it would be possible to communicate with him when we are here and he is in his version of There. All the time I'm conscious of what is happening around me, of who might be listening in and what they would overhear if they were. I'm careful to never say too much or be too obvious and Falco is the same.

That means I soon notice when the atmosphere in the room changes, and when I look up I immediately see why. The big screen in front of me and the vast majority of the others show that the man from District Six has left the shelter of his cave. He's clearly tracking someone through the snow, and judging by the way the cameras seems to flash to the small boy from District Nine with increasing frequency, I assume he must be the target.

It doesn't take long for the young man who can't possibly still be called a boy to catch up with the small tribute he's following, but he doesn't reveal his presence straight away like I thought he would. He simply sits there, crouched behind a massive pile of snow-covered rocks as the boy leans against another, shivering in the freezing evening air.

As I watch the man from District Six watching his oblivious prey, I initially think he's holding back because he doesn't want to kill, remembering how it felt to be a tribute and understanding all too well what he's going through. But then the camera zooms in on his face and I see the look in his eyes. He has the same expression he's had since the bloodbath, that expression which makes me think he's looking at things only he can see. He is still muttering to himself as he tightens his grip on the spear and stands upright, his eyes unblinking and suddenly never leaving the defenceless boy from District Nine.

The boy doesn't have time to plead for his life before his cannon fires, and even though I could see what was happening on the screen in front of me, I still jump at the sound. My eyes snap to my computer and I see the shock I feel reflected on Gloss's face. All of his allies look the same too, even Theodorus. They aren't used to this. They aren't expecting others to trigger cannon fire like that when they've grown up thinking that's their job.

"Is it me or did doing that seem worryingly easy for him?" asks Ursala, breaking the deafening silence that settled over the Control Room following the latest death.

"It isn't just you," I reply, "but it would be different if his opponent was able to fight back," I continue, trying to convince myself as much as my fellow victor.

"It's not like we'll get any information out of his mentor," says Falco darkly, and I follow his gaze until my eyes come to rest on the man rumoured to be addicted to morphling. As usual, his appearance does nothing to contradict the gossip.

Then the silence abruptly returns when everyone simultaneously turns in the direction of the District Nine station in response to the whimper that comes from the middle-aged woman who sits there. She doesn't seem to notice us as she can't take her eyes from the screen, and when I look up I see why. Instead of leaving the boy's body for the hovercraft to collect, the man from District Six begins to drag him along, back in the direction of his cave shelter. He quickly changes his mind and lifts the dead boy up, slinging him over his shoulder like a rag doll as he continues his journey. Nobody in the Control Room utters a sound.

"We'll be safe here," he says to the boy he places very carefully at the back of the cave. His voice is quiet but it somehow fills the entire room, and not for the first time I consider how the Gamemakers probably watch us mentors and our reactions almost as closely as they watch the tributes. "They won't be able to get us here."

"He's insane," I whisper, half-turning to Falco when he covers my hand with his own but remaining unable to tear my eyes from the horror playing before me.

"He didn't look totally stable before the Games started," he whispers back. "He certainly isn't now."

"Can't they send the hovercraft in?" asks the little boy's helpless mentor as District Six proceeds to remove everything from the pack his victim has been carrying and arrange it neatly before slowly returning it.

"They will," calls Falco when he realises he's the closest Capitolian and therefore the person her question was directed to. "I'm sure they will."

"If he'll let them," I say, staring in horror as Gloss's previously discounted rival attacks the metal claw which currently extends into the cave from the hovercraft, reaching for the fallen tribute.

This carries on for several minutes before the claw finally knocks the man from District Six to the ground and quickly removes the body of the boy he killed. Even as it leaves, he somehow drags himself to his feet and chases after it, flinging his spear with lethal accuracy so it bounces back off the hovercraft's protective force field and then skids along the floor back to him. I shudder as I imagine the effect that throw would have had if his target had been another tribute.

"He's strong but Gloss is stronger. You know that," says Falco, doing his usual trick of seeming to read my mind.

I look into his eyes but say nothing, abruptly remembering the girl from my district who won the Games ten years ago and knowing from what happened to her that his words aren't necessarily true.

I've seen a lot of pictures of Magnificence Goldsmith before, and the memory I have from my childhood of her pretty face underneath the Victor's crown has never left me, but that isn't the only thing I remember of her. I also remember peering over the garden wall of her house in the Victor's Village a couple of days after she returned from her Victory Tour and seeing a group of Peacekeepers carry out the bodies of their fallen colleagues before finally bringing out that of the girl who killed them.

There are very few people who know the truth about what happened that day, as obviously the Capitol covered it up to avoid a scandal, but I know because I was there, because I was eight years old and my father sent me to spy for him, thinking I would blend into the background and nobody would notice me. The official report said she died of a mysterious illness, however I don't believe that. I heard the officials who were there say that she went mad and took two Capitol-born people hostage before taking out at least six of the Peacekeepers who broke the door down and then killing herself. They said she was never right after returning from her tour, and knowing what I know now, I'm sure I can imagine why.

I had only been very young, but I remember that day and I remember that Maggie had been no bigger or stronger than I am now. She shouldn't have been able to kill six fully-trained Peacekeepers, but she did. Her madness made her ruthless and reckless and that made her strong, and now I worry that it will have the same effect on this tribute. My brother's natural instinct isn't to kill, and all I can do is desperately hope the man from Six won't get the better of him because of it if they meet.

Falco squeezes my hand under the table, but we both remain silent as we watch District Six race across the arena, looking almost as though he imagines himself chasing the hovercraft which has long since vanished. He doesn't stop until he almost trips over the girl from District Seven, and though she tries to flee, she stands no more of a chance than District Nine did. Her cannon fires and the entire Control Room stares wordlessly as he slings her body over his shoulder and the whole process begins again.

I look up at the far wall, the one which has massive illuminated photos of the surviving tributes and blacked out ones of those who have fallen, and after lingering on Gloss for a few seconds, my eyes find the image of the man from District Six. I can't fight the feeling that this previously unknown and unthought-of competitor will prove to be my brother's biggest threat, that this killer who is overlooked from the Control Room no longer should be the one they all fear. I stare at his photograph and the name below it, hoping that the man whose name is Titus appears on Gloss's kill list rather than the other way around.

* * *

"Only ten left," I say, mostly because it's the only thing I can think of to break the silence and breaking the silence is the only thing I can think of to stop myself from thinking about Titus.

"Nine more cannons and then Gloss can come home," replies Falco.

I can tell he's trying to make me feel better by telling me what I want to hear. He seems to have been doing that a lot lately. The more tired and stressed I get, the more he lies to me. He thinks I don't know what he's doing but I do.

I nod when I can't find the words to reply and scan the room for what must be the tenth time since the sun rose in the arena, which is no more than half an hour ago. Before the starting gong sounded seven days ago, this place was full of people and noise as all twenty-three mentors waited and hoped their tributes would survive the bloodbath, but now it's virtually empty.

Tiberius sits alone at his district's station, uncharacteristically subdued as he twists his former district token which he still wears around and around in his hands. I know staring at him is asking for trouble but I can't help it, and he looks up just as my eyes widen when I see there are two metal tags hanging from the thin silver chain around his neck rather than the usual one. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the onslaught of rage that is sure to hit me any second, but it doesn't come. He shakes his head and refocuses on the computer in front of him without speaking.

"Look," calls the man from District Four, interrupting my thoughts as he stands up and crosses the room to stand closer to the main screen.

I get up and follow him, quickly noticing that Wiress, Beetee's female counterpart from District Three, has done the same. When I see what attracted the attention of the man from the fishing district I immediately understand why. Wiress's tribute girl is currently racing through the deep snow as fast as she can, and behind her is my brother and all five of his allies.

"Faster," growls Theodorus, his voice seeming to travel through the speakers to fill the entire room. "Don't let her get away."

As I watch the District Three girl desperately running for her life, I already know what's going to happen. They will catch her and she will die. It is almost inevitable and all I seem to feel is surprise she's lasted this long. I can't help thinking that Dahlia would have put a knife in her by now if this had been last year's Games.

Forcing myself not to lean against Falco for support when he moves to stand beside me, I watch as Megaera surges ahead of the others, tackles their target and then crashes to the ground with her. I see the girl from District Two reach for the handle of the dagger that protrudes from her coat pocket but she doesn't get chance to use it before Theodorus lifts the girl up and away.

He pushes her to Nicon, who grasps her arms and pins them behind her back so she can't move. My heart sinks because I realise what's coming next before the man from District Two says anything.

"Go on then, District One," he snarls viciously. "Prove your worth. Kill her."

Gloss's eyes narrow as he looks at the struggling girl, and he stares at her for what feels like all eternity. She doesn't stop fighting to escape Nicon's grip, and because of that she suddenly reminds me sharply of Elsah, despite how much older, taller and resigned to her fate she seems.

"I don't have to prove myself to you, _District Two_," replies my brother, speaking with that annoyingly calm tone he always uses with me when I'm angry at him.

"I think you do," says Theodorus. "So kill her. Or I will," he continues, dragging the tip of his sword down the side of the girl's face. Her screams are deafeningly loud in the desolate arena.

Gloss draws his sword and I feel a silent tear slide down my cheek at the same time as I see how much his hand is shaking. The girl screams again as Theodorus repeats his action on her other side and out of the corner of my eye I see Wiress grasp the nearest desk to stop herself from falling down. I don't take my eyes from Gloss after that, honestly not knowing if his next move will be to kill the girl or to take his chances and try to take Theodorus down. Knowing my brother as I do, I would bet everything I own on the latter.

Then something flashes across the screen and the girl falls to the ground at the same time as Nicon cries out in pain and a cannon fires.

"What does it matter who kills her as long as she dies?" says Pelagia as she steps into view and drags her spear from the body of the dead girl. It takes her a couple of attempts, and I realise that's because she threw it so hard that the same spear is also what wounded her district partner when it passed straight through her original target.

"Are you starting something, Pela?" asks Nicon, half reaching for his sword as he confirms what I thought I saw.

"Not yet," she replies with a smirk, tossing her head so her dark-brown curls fly back over her shoulders. "Let's go. I'm not going to freeze to death out here arguing over who makes a kill. If you want to be that stupid then carry on, but don't expect me to join you."

She turns and walks away and I breathe a sigh of relief when Gloss follows her, walking slightly ahead of Nicon, who for once chooses his district partner over Theodorus. When Megaera and Diamond also leave him behind without a backward glance, even the man from Two's arrogance crumbles and he trails along a short distance after them.

"Allies?" whispers Pelagia to Gloss, leaning close to him so the others can't hear her words.

I desperately will him to say yes and to not try and go out on his own just yet. It's too early, especially with District Six being as he is.

"When it suits us both," replies Gloss immediately, making me have to work hard to conceal my relief from the other mentors.

"As long as he's alive, I think it suits," says Pelagia, so obviously talking about Theodorus that she doesn't have to look back.

"Good," I say, talking to Falco and not looking where I'm going as I start to walk back to our desk.

The person I walk into doesn't say a word even though I almost knock her down, and as soon as my eyes meet hers, I wish I'd just concentrated on avoiding her. Then I wouldn't have to think of something to say.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to Wiress.

"It's fine. It was always…"

"…going to happen," finishes Beetee sadly as he walks towards us.

I expect him to say something further, but all he does is put his arm around Wiress and lead her away in silence.

* * *

Almost as soon as the girl from District Three's cannon fires, my brother and his allies return to their fire, which is just about still burning despite the thick snow. I sit and watch them even though it's hard to make them out because of the swirling flakes that obscure the cameras. This won't last for long though. I know that because if I can't see what's going on then the Capitol audience won't be able to either, and that will never do. The complaints are probably flooding in already and the Gamemakers won't be able to ignore them for long.

They aren't doing very much but I watch them anyway, marvelling that there are so few left alive in the arena and every tribute in the traditional One, Two and Four alliance is still alive. It is so commonplace for someone from one of those districts to win that it's almost expected, however it is almost unheard of for them to get this far without the alliance breaking down and at least one or two of them losing their lives because of it. However despite that, they aren't like last year's Careers. There are no alliances like the one Corvinus and I had, or even any obvious loyalties between district partners like there was with Marcia and Octavian. The only reason they are still together is the freezing cold arena, which has so far stopped anyone from either challenging the others or going out alone.

"We've been here for over seven days now," says Pelagia shakily, her teeth chattering in a way that makes her words hard to hear. "There are only nine of us left."

"There'll be a victor soon, and I'm so looking forward to wearing that crown," replies Nicon, and not for the first time, I am undecided if his arrogance is genuine or deliberately put on.

"That's not going to happen," retorts Theodorus. I have no doubt about _his _arrogance. "It'll be me living the good life in the Capitol. It'd be worth winning this thing just to get near your sister, de Montfort," he continues, as unable to resist trying to wind Gloss up as ever and perhaps unwittingly choosing one of the very few subjects guaranteed to produce a reaction. Me.

"What's my sister got to do with this?" replies my brother, narrowing his eyes. I see his hands form tight fists despite the thick gloves he wears and realise I'm already subconsciously waiting for the fireworks to start.

However Theodorus smirks, seemingly either oblivious or indifferent to the unspoken threat contained within the response he just received. "Have you seen her?" he asks, addressing Nicon rather than Gloss. "She's so hot she only has to stand there to be asking for it. I think I'd like to see if she lives up to her name, and when I'm crowned the victor I'll make sure I do. Think about that when I kill you, de Montfort. Think about me and your beloved Cashmere."

I just hear Falco snarl at the screen in response to Theodorus's words before I cry out and fly to my feet when I see Gloss launch himself at the man from District Two. A cannon fires when my view is obscured by the fire and by the snowflakes which billow across the front of the cameras. I scream. Everyone stares at me as the sound echoes around the silence of the Control Room but I barely even see them. Was that cannon for Theodorus or Gloss? Does my brother live? I can't see. They have to do something. I can't see.

"It's alright, Butterfly," whispers Falco as he moves to stand behind me and places his hands lightly on my shoulders. "Look."

He releases me to point at the small black screen attached to the left of our computer, and the little machine suddenly beeps reassuringly back at me as if it knows I'm watching it. I hear Tiberius's shout of rage at the same time as the thin red line that traces Gloss's heart beat reappears and settles back into a steady rhythm.

The main television screen clears so abruptly that it was obviously a deliberate act by the Gamemakers, and I see my brother racing across the ice away from the others. Theodorus lies dead on the ground, blood seeping from the wound in his neck to colour the snow beneath him a bright scarlet red.

* * *

**_Thanks to BNTN for being my wonderful 'second opinion' :)_**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14 already...I surprise myself sometimes... ;) **

**I know I always say this but I'm going to say it again anyway - thank you so much to those of you who commented on the last chapter :) Your reviews continue to amaze me!**

**Oh, and I almost forgot - Briarpaw, if you're reading, I couldn't send you a PM but in answer to your question; Gloss and Titus in the same Games isn't canon, it's just the product of my slightly twisted mind :P **

Chapter Fourteen

It's midway through the afternoon when he finds her. It could almost have been accidental were it not for the way just enough snow to block the path always fell down the side of the nearest rocky slope when they went any way but towards each other. That tells me their meeting wasn't accidental, that the Gamemakers have done this on purpose because both they and the Capitol audience want to see what happens when the man from District Six who has already killed twice comes face to face with his district partner.

"Nothing will happen," says Fortune, sounding bored as we all watch the two tributes staring at each other across the clearing. "He won't kill her yet because if he does then the whole of District Six will hate him forever."

"I don't think he's exactly able to consider that right now," replies Falco, who seems to be the only one with the inclination or the self-control to answer Diamond's mentor civilly.

"That girl's going to die," says Ursala flatly from her position beside me. "Any second now."

I nod and race back to the District One station, realising that I haven't checked on Gloss for several minutes and hoping he's still sheltering in the cave he found. He is, and I watch him for a while, wondering if he will suffer because he left the group too soon and feeling more grateful than I can say that his cave is well away from the one commandeered by Titus.

"Marisa, come over here. We have to go before the Careers find us."

I look back up at the main screen in time to see the man from District Six take an almost tentative step towards the girl, who stares at him with eyes full of uncertainty. I get up and walk back over to the small group of mentors and escorts gathered together watching. Falco and Ursala move so I have room to stand between them, and my heart skips a beat when the girl steps towards Titus.

"He'll kill you," I whisper under my breath. "Don't be stupid. Don't go with him."

"She has to die, Cash," whispers Falco, telling me that I wasn't as quiet as I thought I was as he very deliberately shortens my name like my brother does as a way of bringing me crashing back to reality. "For Gloss."

"I know. But at the hand of her insane district partner? She doesn't deserve that."

"Dead is dead," says Ursala sharply. "What does it matter?"

I shrug my shoulders as the girl in the arena unknowingly takes a few more steps towards her death, for now remaining just out of reach.

"Come on," encourages Titus, and I can see virtually no hint of madness in his expression. "I heard them coming this way."

Now I know it's a trap. There isn't another tribute anywhere near them and the two who did see Titus are both dead.

"Those cannons that fired… the boy from Nine and the girls from Three and Seven…"

"It was _them_, Marisa. They did it all."

At that moment another mini-avalanche of snow falls and the girl visibly shivers as she looks around at it. When she turns back and the camera can see her face once more, I can tell instantly that she's made her decision.

We all watch in silence as she follows him back to the cave, and as they walk along they talk about District Six and about the other tributes, seeming almost like genuine allies. I can see why the girl trusts him as he's very convincing, and for the first time I start to consider that maybe he won't kill her straight away, that there is part of him that's still as sane as the rest of us. Then seconds later when they reach their destination, I know I was right the first time.

"Titus, what's this?" asks Marisa, leaning down to brush her fingers against the stone floor of the cave. She gasps when she stands upright again and sees them stained red. "It looks like…blood."

Titus raises his spear and stalks towards her, his face contorting with rage as the madness descends once more.

"Who are you? Did _they _send you?"

"Did who send me? Titus, it's me. It's Marisa. We came here together from District Six. Don't you remember?"

She frantically moves backwards, realising her mistake of going into the cave first when her back hits the wall and she sees him blocking her only route of escape.

"No you're not. They sent you. They think I don't know but I do. I always know."

He takes one more step towards her and draws his arm back before throwing his spear violently forward so it sinks into her chest with a thud that joins her screams to echo around the cave. He yanks the spear free and plunges it back into her, obviously hitting her heart this time because the next second her cannon fires and yet another tribute's photo fades to black on the far wall of the Control Room. Falco grasps my arm to steady me but I pull back, shaking my head and walking away.

"I have to check on Gloss," I say abruptly, returning to my chair and sitting down before I fall down.

I don't think I'll ever get used to the deaths. I don't think I'll ever be able to detach myself from what I'm witnessing like some of the other mentors seem to be able to do. But that doesn't matter. No matter what I'm feeling, I have to put it aside and focus on my brother. He's still there, shivering, tired and hungry in his tiny little cave. He's relying on me to help him. He needs me.

"No!" shrieks the middle-aged mentor from District Five, a chronically peeved-looking woman by the name of Viola, and I immediately jump up to see what caused such an uncharacteristic display of strong emotion. "That's against the rules. Surely that's against the rules. It must be."

I turn to look at Falco, who I figure is more likely to know the answer to that than anyone else, but he slowly shakes his head, refusing to look at the screen any more. I can't say that I blame him, because despite the many horrific sights I've witnessed in my lifetime, I'm unable to make myself look either.

"It's not allowed, is it?" I say quietly. "Surely they can't allow…cannibalism?" I continue, barely able to make myself say the word.

"Kill or be killed," interjects Mags dryly. "That's the only rule in The Hunger Games."

"But can't they send the hovercraft in?" persists a distinctly green-looking Viola.

"She's dead anyway so what's the point?" says Fortune, only to be silenced by the look Ursala immediately sends in his direction.

Then Viola speaks again and after that they all speak at the same time, talking over each other and trying to be the one who shouts the loudest as they attempt to make sense of what we are all witnessing. I don't know why they bother. This is the Hunger Games. It rarely makes sense.

I sigh and force myself not to look at the main screens, which are still resolutely showing Titus's cave, and try to focus on Gloss instead. It's obvious that he heard the cannon because when I get back to my computer he appears even more on edge than he did before, scanning the cave entrance with wide and frightened eyes in response to even the slightest of noises. My camera is currently zoomed in on his face, as if the Gamemakers know that is what will torture me the most, and he looks haunted in a way he never has before. I know he's thinking of Theodorus and I am too. It seems we're not the only ones, because it's Ursala's voice that interrupts my thoughts.

"He needs to snap out of that or he'll find himself on District Six's Kill List before he even comes close to being temporarily reunited with his allies."

"He'll fight when he has to," I reply firmly, hoping I'm right. "How come you're still here when you've been here all night? Isn't Tiberius going to take his turns anymore? Not that I'm in a rush to see him when I'm sure he'll want to kill me even more now, but…"

"He had something he had to do," she replies. "He'll be back to watch Meg for me soon. And he won't hate you or your brother for Theodorus. The boy caused his own death through arrogance and stupidity, any fool can see that. Tiberius came here as his mentor but he only ever had one tribute. He'll always hate you because you killed Dahlia, but Theodorus was nothing to him. You don't have to fear for Gloss because of him."

As soon as she finishes speaking she gets up and walks away without even a backward glance. When I look towards the main door, I realise she was right when Tiberius steps past her and replaces her at the District Two station. He pauses, presumably to check on Megaera, before turning his attention to the main screen, but I don't do the same. I don't care about District Six at the moment. All I care about is Gloss.

I reach out to touch his image on the screen, giving in to my weakness for a short time because I know everyone is distracted by Titus. I wish I could talk to him, to find words of comfort and help him deal with what happened. If I was with him then we'd be alright. We can cope with anything when we're together, but when we're separated like this, when I have to watch from afar as he fights for his life, it's worse than being in the arena myself ever was.

Realising that as I stare at the red letters under Gloss's photo which spell out Theodorus's name is what makes my mind up for me. We have to think of something. We have to do something. I have to get my brother out of there before the arena possesses him so completely that the Gloss I know will never be able to return to me.

"Falco!"

He looks across at me and is by my side in an instant.

"Don't worry," he says soothingly. "District Six couldn't defeat Gloss even if they did meet."

"Madness can make you strong," I reply, finally voicing the fears I've kept inside me since Titus made his first kill. "Do you remember Magnificence Goldsmith?" He nods. "I suppose you know the truth about what happened to her?" He nods again, just as I knew he would. Nobody who's anybody believes she died following a short battle with illness, which was the story the Capitol used to cover up the considerably more horrific reality. "Then you'll know I speak the truth."

"Gloss won't lose a fight to District Six," he repeats, taking my arm and leading me to the corner of the room furthest from the other mentors.

"We have to end this. We have to get him out of there."

"Only your brother can do that."

"There must be something we can do."

"I know this isn't what you want to hear but sometimes all you can do is wait. I discovered that for myself last year."

* * *

I find out just how true Falco's words were over the next couple of days, as I quickly discover that most of the time all I can do is sit here and wait. Sometimes I sit in my chair and other times I pace around and around the Control Room, watching as Gloss hides out in his cave, getting colder and looking more defeated with every hour that passes. He only emerges to gaze up at the sky for the nightly death recaps and is surviving on what food I manage to send him.

By the evening of the second day since Titus killed his district partner, I start to worry about the lack of activity in the arena, knowing that it's only a matter of time before the Gamemakers decide to do something about it. They don't disappoint me for long, and when the sun sets upon my brother's former allies as they make their way down the path towards the caves, a massive avalanche of snow cascades down upon them and their shocked cries fill the room. I feel nothing but relief to see the latest plan to entertain the viewers didn't involve Gloss.

There are no fatalities, which is no surprise to anyone, but there is enough snow to block the path completely, and I soon notice that because she rushed ahead, Diamond is on one side and Megaera, Pelagia and Nicon are on the other. I look across the desk even though I already know Fortune isn't there.

"District One?" shouts Megaera. "Can you get back?"

"No! The path is blocked! I can't get around!"

"Stop shouting," I growl at the screen even though I know she can't hear me and I'm not supposed to care what happens to her anyway. "You're alone now. Stop shouting."

"You're on your own then!" calls Pelagia as Megaera pushes her back the way they came. "We can't wait for you to go around or we'll all freeze to death!"

"Pelagia! Pelagia, don't go!" shouts the girl who, until Gloss made it to the stage first at least, was always meant to be my responsibility. "Megaera!"

I stare at the main screen for long enough to see her allies turn and walk back the way they came, noticing that only the girl from District Four looks back, before I drop my eyes down to my hands. Diamond can't see them walking away. She keeps shouting. Over and over again she calls for them, telling every other tribute left in the arena exactly where she is. I might not know much about being a mentor, but I know more than most about being a tribute, and that means I know she is doing one of the most foolish things imaginable, especially when she isn't prepared to be out there alone without her allies.

Shaking my head, I reach forward to grasp the control panel once more, making all of the charts and tables appear around the main picture. Despite his recent inactivity, Gloss still has a lot of sponsorship money. He has considerably more than Diamond, but she has something, just enough for what she needs.

I scan the list of gifts to find what I'm looking for, a basic survival pack containing enough food to last a couple of days, a bottle of fresh water, matches to light a fire and a simple first aid kit, but then I fall still. My eyes flick back and forth from the picture of the pack to that of Diamond Ferrers, the girl I should have mentored, the girl who I passed over for my brother so she was left with nobody to help her. I can't do this. I can't help her. I can't send her something that will help her live when she has to die. If only she wasn't so close to District Six's cave. If only she would stop calling out for the allies who will never return for her.

I take a deep breath and let the control panel go, pushing my chair back as I get to my feet. I start to walk across the room, intending to go as far as the door to see if I can see Falco returning from his latest search for sponsors, but before I know it I'm back at the computer again. My hand seems to move of its own accord as I find the pack again and drag it over to Diamond's picture, letting it go before I can change my mind. She's nowhere near Gloss at the moment. I can't just sit here and wait for District Six to find her and do to her what he did to his district partner.

I stand up again, watching as the silver parachute floats down to land at her feet. She gazes at it for several minutes, and all I can think is that at least she's finally silent, but then she picks it up and looks inside. She isn't stupid and it has the desired effect. She knows her allies have abandoned her. She knows from it's contents that she's on her own.

"Thanks, Fortune," she says. "It's about time you did something for me."

I look away, part of me feeling pleased she thought he'd sent it. As I stride towards the glass doors, my eyes find Tiberius's and he smirks.

"You'll regret that if she lives."

"Yes," I reply simply. "I will."

* * *

I get as far as the second set of glass doors and look out at the tree lined path I know leads back to the Training Centre, however after establishing that Falco is nowhere to be seen, I swiftly turn my back on the night sky, refusing to look for stars like I usually do because I know Gloss isn't anywhere where he can do the same. The warm evening air that drifts inside feels nice on my skin, and the sensation suddenly makes me recall that it's been ten days since Falco and I raced to get here before the start of the Games and that I haven't left the Control Room since.

I want nothing more than to go outside but I don't. I decided before the starting gong even sounded that I would stay here and watch over my brother until he returns to me and I'm determined to push aside my own fears and memories so I keep my promise. That's the way it has to be and that's the way it will be. It doesn't matter what I think I want when I know deep down inside that nothing would ever matter again if Gloss didn't live.

With that thought in mind, I almost run back to the District One station and sit staring at Gloss as he sleeps, listening and watching for him now he has finally given into the exhaustion he has been trying to fight ever since he killed Theodorus.

"All alone for once?"

"It looks that way, yes. Unless I'm surrounded by invisible people," I reply sarcastically, refusing to drop my guard in front of someone like Tiberius, even if, for once, he doesn't look the slightest bit interested in attacking me.

"Where's Hazelwell?"

"How would I know? I'm not his keeper," I reply, trying desperately to stop myself from smiling at what I suppose could be called the inaccuracy of that statement. "Why?"

"He's more likely to know what's really going on than anyone else. There's been some talk about something being done about the way District Six insists upon eating his victims when he's killed them," he says casually, telling it like it is as usual and refusing to talk around even a subject as taboo as this.

"Who said that?"

"'Sala. I've no idea where she got it from though."

I nod but say nothing, remembering the gilded invitation that was brought to her yesterday and having my suspicions. Then as I think that I realise I haven't seen her since then. I could laugh at myself when I notice I feel vaguely anxious for her. We can't be friends. District One and District Two when her tribute is still alive and one of her opponents is my brother. It's ridiculous, I know that, but that doesn't stop me from asking my question anyway.

"Where is she?"

"She had an offer she couldn't refuse," he replies dryly, and something about his tone tells me he knows exactly what he's talking about. I stare up into his unreadable dark eyes, allowing myself to briefly wonder what Snow could possibly have to hold over him.

"But where is she now?" I persist.

"Over there," he says, nodding in the direction of the main doorway as Ursala walks through it towards us.

"Did you miss me?" she asks Tiberius, leaning across him to check the computer screen.

"Why would I possibly?" he growls, pushing her roughly out of the way.

I have to look back to my own computer then, so they don't see the expression on my face. I could smile to see the concern in his eyes that he almost succeeds in hiding as he looks her up and down as if checking she's still in one piece, but I could cry to see how she flinches away even from his impersonal and almost violent touch, knowing there's a reason for that which I understand all too well. She looks up, and when her eyes meet mine I find her emotions easy to read because they mirror my own. She doesn't want me to say anything, she doesn't want sympathetic looks, she just wants to block it out and carry on because it's the only choice she has.

"Look," interrupts Viola from District Five, pointing at a large television in the corner of the room.

I follow the direction she indicates and see that it isn't showing a live broadcast of events in the arena like the rest. Initially all I can see is Caesar Flickerman, still orange like he was at the interviews, but then the camera pans out to show what looks like a live studio audience. So this is what he does when the interviews are over.

"Good evening Panem!" he calls. The crowd all cheer. "Thank you for joining me on this very exciting tenth day of the Sixty-seventh Annual Hunger Games!"

When I hear another cheer even louder than the first, I check Gloss is still in his cave and far from the other remaining tributes and then cross the room so I can hear what Caesar is saying. Viola and Fortune are already there, as is Beetee, despite the fact both of District Three's cannons have fired this year. Tiberius and Ursala follow close behind me, and then even Mags hobbles after us. It seems that everyone with a tribute still left in the arena cares about what the Gamemakers are going to do about Titus. That is everyone except his own mentor, who is currently slumped in his chair in what looks like a drug-induced stupor.

There is a different man on screen now, one I vaguely recognise but can't place, and he seems to be talking the audience through the story of the Games so far. I don't know why he thinks he needs to bother because I find it almost impossible to believe there is a single person in the Capitol who hasn't been glued to their television since it all began.

I am just starting to lose focus as I think about what I should do next and what will help Gloss the most, when I notice writing flashing up on the bottom of the screen. When I look closer I see they are comments which have apparently been sent in by viewers. 'That boy from District Six must be stopped', says one of them, 'Megaera will be the one to end Titus's reign of terror', says another, and then 'District Six cannot be crowned. De Montfort winning streak must go on' follows it. My heart skips a beat whenever Gloss is mentioned as the words change every few seconds, and that happens with great frequency, proving that they haven't forgotten him. I feel vaguely positive for the first time in days as I am reminded how there are a lot of people out there who want him to win. Part of me dreads to think why, but the rest of me doesn't care. All I care about is Gloss winning the Games and coming back to me.

"They can't let it continue," starts Viola again, interrupting my thoughts and obviously feeling intent on repeating the speech she has already subjected us to at least three times today.

I turn away, intending to return to my monitoring station to send Gloss something to eat, but then Ursala calls me back.

"Cashmere, look."

I return my gaze to the television just in time to see Caesar gesture widely with his arm as the camera moves across to reveal his latest guest. It's Falco.

"What-" I start, before swiftly cutting myself off as I realise I shouldn't allow my shock to show in the company of my fellow mentors and especially not in a place as dangerous as this.

The safest thing for me to do would be to walk away, to go back to my computer and not look at this television again, but my feet seem rooted to the floor. Even when I try to move away from Ursala and Mags, I somehow remain in place, hardly daring to breathe.

Falco is almost unrecognisable from the man who has held me in his arms so many times, the man who tells me he loves me and promises to protect me whether I think I need him to or not. Right now he is not the man I love, he is the government minister from the Capitol, and he leans casually back in his chair as if he owns the stage.

"So," begins Caesar with the beaming smile of a presenter who knows his viewing figures just soared through the roof, "everyone's talking about the events in the arena this year and I'm sure you know more than most. Is the public outrage the papers describe really as widespread as the reporters would have us believe? Will the Gamemakers do anything about the issue that is causing the most controversy?"

"From what I've heard, the consensus is that these…matters cannot continue as they are. And I'm sure you will agree that the views of the people of this city are of utmost importance. I have no doubt the Gamemakers will do what they think is best and that there will be a resolution which takes those views into careful consideration."

I shudder in response to the slightly exaggerated accent he speaks with, hating how unlike the Falco I know this on-screen version is. Ursala turns to look at me and I quickly look the other way, wondering exactly how much Astraea revealed to her of our previous conversation. There's something about her expression that tells me she knows more than I would like her to, but she says nothing.

The interview goes on and on as Caesar asks Falco for his views on every issue which is currently at all contentious in the city whether it's related to the arena or not, perhaps deciding that as such appearances are so rare, he's going to get in every question he possibly can. When talk turns to how people are calling for broadcasting of this Games to be edited at certain times of day, Ursala leans close to me and whispers into my ear.

"So they don't care if there's a tribute eating the rest as long as their children don't have to watch it? Now that's what I call ironic."

"Something like that," I reply, leaning as close to her as she did to me and earning us a very suspicious look from Mags.

I shrug my shoulders and refocus on the screen in time to see Falco make one final comment about how he still believes a tribute from the district he escorts will wear the crown before rising to his feet and leaving the stage to rapturous applause. When I see him like this, I begin to understand how he could get away with doing what he did to the second man who bought me from the president. Seeing him like this reminds me how virtually untouchable he is, and I'm grateful for that even though I wish he was by my side.

"They'll do something about it if people like him are protesting," says Fortune, nodding at the television.

"Will they really?" I ask, looking more at Mags and Ursala than at my district counterpart as I try to stop myself from thinking about the unthinkable possibility of Titus and Gloss meeting.

"Of course," says Viola. "Falco Hazelwell is one of the most powerful and influential men in Panem and he isn't the only one who's voiced his opinion on this shameful episode."

I say nothing in reply and let the words of Viola and the other remaining mentors drift over me as they talk about Caesar and his interviews. All of them, even Ursala, seem to talk about Falco with some level of awe, and as I make my way back to my chair, I am surprised by the emotion I feel. Probably for the first time since before my own reaping, I feel something I could compare with my old arrogance and smugness at the thought that he gave me the bracelet that still hangs from my left wrist.

Then I mentally tell myself to stop being so stupid. Gloss is in the arena. I don't have time for such frivolous thoughts.

* * *

He pushes the door open and everyone who remained here falls silent and turns to stare at him. He walks across the room towards me and their eyes follow him. He sits down in Fortune's chair and still they don't look away. I wish they would but they don't.

"Has anything happened in the arena?" asks Falco, obviously well aware that there are at least three people hanging on our every word and that's before we even begin to consider the others who are surely listening in using the hidden cameras I know fill this room.

"No. Gloss is awake but he hasn't gone anywhere yet. Diamond's still wandering around the caves closer to the Cornucopia."

He nods and discreetly scans the room, smiling slightly when we both realise people are no longer watching us as closely. Then he abruptly rises to his feet, spinning my chair around as he does and gesturing towards the door, all but pushing me ahead of him once I stand up too. I let him, pointing at a couple of the screens as I go so the other mentors will think we're arguing about the arena and don't want to create a scene. He doesn't allow me to stop until we're standing under a massive tree just outside the Control Room building, and I stand there drinking in the fresh air I haven't experienced for far too long, waiting for him to speak first.

"Did you-"

"Yes, Falco, I did. You could have told me you were going to appear on the Flickerman Show."

"I did it to help Gloss," he replies before leaning close to me and dropping his voice to a whisper as he continues. "It'll help him if the Gamemakers take out District Six, and if I publicly support the idea..."

"Do you seriously think they would do that when he's being so…_entertaining_?" I whisper back.

"I meant what I said in that interview, Butterfly. There are a lot of influential people out there who don't like switching on their televisions and having to watch that. And besides, every cannon that fires is one less before that boy ends up winning the Games. Can you see anyone in the Capitol wanting a Victor who's insane before he even leaves the arena?"

I don't know what to say to that because I immediately see how his words make sense. I don't know why I didn't think about it like that before and from the expression on his face as he looks down at me, it's obvious he knows what I'm thinking.

"I don't like seeing you like that," I confess, my eyes never leaving his as I try to reassure myself that the Capitol-version of him has long gone.

"'That' is what I am," he replies softly but firmly. "I don't always like it, but if I wasn't that man then I would be powerless and that would be worse."

I smile and duck my head, suddenly feeling ashamed when I think about how he accepts everything I am and was forced to be. The least I can do is the same for him.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, wishing we were somewhere else so I could reach out and touch him.

"Don't be," he says. "Just do one thing for me."

"What's that?"

"Go upstairs and get some rest," he replies, nodding in the direction of the Training Centre. "Only for a couple of hours."

"Falco, I can't. I can't leave him on his own. I just can't. I'll sleep if you want me to but it'll be in the Control Room."

"Come on then," he says resignedly, holding out his arm to me so I can grasp his elbow.

He escorts me back inside like he's leading me into a ballroom, and I'm suddenly reminded of the time before my Games when he took me out of the Training Centre to the party at the house that had been his father's. He had pulled me slightly closer to him than would be considered proper then and he does the same now. I feel warm for the first time since Gloss went into the arena because of it and I'm sorry when we reach our part of the Control Room and he guides me into my chair.

* * *

When I wake up, the first person I see is someone I shouldn't be seeing at all in somewhere that's closed to all but Gamemakers, mentors and Capitol escorts. Narissa is hovering in the doorway, gazing up at the big screens with something that would look like awe on a less composed person, and she obviously senses my disapproval because the next thing I know, her green eyes are staring directly back at me. She smirks and puts a black lace gloved hand on her hip in silent challenge.

"She isn't allowed in here," I whisper, staring over the top of the computer at the Capitolian woman.

Falco looks up and immediately follows the direction of my gaze, rolling his eyes amusedly when he sees his friend. I turn back just in time to see her beckon casually to him and then slink out of my sight back the way she came. I scowl when Falco gets up and leaves, following him after one last look at Gloss, reassuring myself that he is still sitting by the fire and all is as quiet as it can ever be in the arena. It's not like I'm going far anyway. If they've left the Control Room then I won't follow. Whatever they're up to, it isn't worth risking my brother's life to find out.

"What are you doing in here? If the Peacekeepers see you…"

"How do you think I got in here in the first place?" says Narissa, her sly smile somehow evident from her voice alone.

"One day, Narissa Redsparrow, your looks and your…charm won't get you what you want," replies Falco.

"Really? And when will that be? I can't see it being any time soon."

"I'll ask you again, what are you doing here? Or is this just another one of your games?"

"I knew you'd be here watching the arena and nothing else. I had to show you something."

"What? And you can come out, Butterfly, I know you're there."

I quickly decide there's no point denying it and trying to creep back to the main Control Room, so I push myself off the wall I was leaning against and stroll as casually as I can through the doorway. I find I'm in a lounge I haven't seen before and didn't know about. There's nobody else here.

"You didn't tell me about this place," I say accusingly to Falco, resolutely ignoring Narissa.

"There didn't seem much point when I already know you won't leave the Control Room unless you absolutely have to," he says, his soft smile taking the harshness from his words.

"At least you escort District One and not Twelve," interrupts Narissa. "At least she bothers to wash and to change her clothes every day."

"You're not helping, 'Rissa," replies Falco calmly.

I suddenly want nothing more than to test exactly how out of condition I am by experimenting on the petite Capitolian woman's far too perfect face, and I can tell by her expression that she knows it.

"I am helping," she says, looking straight at Falco. "I'm here to tell you I was right. And I thought your little princess would want to see too. Look who's on screen."

I focus on the massive television that takes up most of the room and am shocked to see my sister's face staring back at me. Virtually the entire population of my district knows we've never got on as we've never really bothered to keep it a secret, but as I watch her, sitting there in a deep purple Capitol-made dress and looking distinctly like she's had a run in with Drusilla, Charis and Callista, I suddenly feel something I'd almost call pride. She still has the same determination in her eyes that she always had when she was about to go running to Father to report the latest bit of misbehaviour committed by Sapphire or myself, but this time it's all directed at the cameras as she asks the people of the Capitol to fight for Gloss while he's in the arena.

"Remember Cashmere," she says, and I jump at the mention of my name. "Remember your champion from last year and help her bring our brother home."

I keep staring at her as she falls silent and whoever is interviewing her starts to speak again. She ducks her head and closes her eyes, perhaps not realising the cameras are still rolling, and when she looks up again she looks more worn out than ever, worse than she did before Gloss's reaping. If it wasn't for that look in her eyes then I would almost think she's at breaking point. I suddenly can't see how I didn't notice before.

"What's my sister to you?" I ask abruptly.

"Absolutely nothing," replies Narissa lightly, her voice a complete contrast to her uncharacteristically fierce expression, which tells me in no uncertain terms that I shouldn't say anything further, especially in a place like this. "I've just taken a fancy to your pretty little brother and she's doing a very good job of helping his cause, that's all."

"Stay away from my brother," I snarl, narrowing my eyes at her immediately as I realise what she might be implying with her words.

She laughs lightly, strolling out of the room with a flick of her immaculate hair and an almost casual sway of her hips when she walks. I grit my teeth and say nothing but I don't fool Falco.

"Antagonising you amuses her," he says. "She doesn't mean anything serious by it."

"Falco, exactly how rich is she?"

"Very," is his only response, said in a vaguely tentative tone that tells me he knows the precise direction my thoughts are going in and also that his reply isn't the one I want to hear.

"Why are they interviewing Satin?" I ask, deciding that I can't afford to dwell on the possible motives of Narissa Redsparrow and quickly changing the subject.

"They always interview relatives and friends of the final eight, you know that."

"I do, but I'd forgotten. And it isn't the final eight, it's the final seven," I tell him, sounding a lot more tetchy than I intended.

He continues to see right through me and doesn't react to my bad-temperedness. "She won't do it, you know," he says. "She thinks too much of herself for that."

I raise my eyebrows disbelievingly, thinking that Narissa would probably do a deal with President Snow for my brother just to anger me. Then I realise I shouldn't be thinking like that. There are still six other tributes in the arena and four of them are trained as well as or better than Gloss is. Not to mention that one of the remaining two is insane and has a longer kill list than any of my brother's former allies. I have to think about the present and take one day at a time. That is the only way I'm going to bring him home.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

"Cashmere. Cashmere, we've got to go. They said half an hour and that was twenty-nine minutes ago."

"Pardon?" I ask, looking dazedly up at Ursala as she looms over my desk, reminding me of the aggressive teenager I vaguely recall from the Fifty-eighth Games for the first time since the day I met her.

"The Flickerman Show," she replies, curling her lip in obvious disgust as she uses the name all the mentors use when referring to the televised interviews Caesar hosts throughout the Games. "They always interview the mentors when they're done with the family and friends back in the districts."

"Tonight? Why did nobody tell me? No, I can't do it. I can't leave Gloss on his own," I say, searching the room for Falco even though I already know he's not here.

"Participation isn't optional," she tells me dryly. "There'll be trouble if you keep them waiting. And they did tell you but it was when your brother left that cave so you weren't listening."

I lean back in my chair, clutching the arms tightly and planting my feet firmly on the floor.

"I can't leave him. Even if I trusted Fortune then he'll be being interviewed too. I'm not going," I tell her flatly. "I'm not moving."

"Cashmere, you have-" she starts, before interrupting herself as she turns around to face the door. "And so your saviour arrives…"

I follow the direction of her gaze to see Falco walking towards us, and I struggle not to laugh. What would she say if she knew how true her words really are?

"Cashmere, they want to-"

"-interview me. Yes, I know. I'm going now you're here to watch Gloss," I say, standing up and starting to follow Ursala before stopping and narrowing my eyes at him. "You are staying, aren't you?"

He smiles slightly. "Of course. I'll be here when you get back."

"That's alright then. Let's go," I say, turning to my fellow mentor. "Unless you're waiting for Tiberius?"

She shakes her head, her expression unreadable. "He'll be here. He said so."

"Cashmere?" calls Falco once we start to walk away.

"Yes?"

"You might want to put this on," he says, holding up a sapphire-blue evening dress.

"I haven't got time," I reply, looking down at my old and creased suit and finding it impossible to make myself care enough to change. "The sooner I go, the sooner I'm back."

Something about that makes him smile but he shakes his head. "Your brother's sponsors will be watching you," he says. "Make Gloss proud."

His words make my eyes fill with tears but I fight them back, taking the dress from him and then disappearing to the bathroom to change in record time. When I return to the main Control Room, I am surprised to find Ursala still there, leaning over her desk but half watching for me to return. Seconds later I look up at the big screen to see a parcel of food land at Megaera's feet.

"Felix has a talent for this," whispers Falco, making me forget everything else because of the look in his eyes.

"Obviously," I reply with a smile, unable to resist smoothing my hands slowly down the lace-covered bodice of my dress.

He raises his eyebrows at me and smirks. "Cashmere, go. Quickly. Please, for the love of Panem, just go."

I laugh and very deliberately run my hands through my hair to push it behind my bare shoulders before turning and following Ursala from the room.

"Where have we got to go?"

"The City Circle," she replies. "Where else?"

I shudder as I think about how the last time I was interviewed on the City Circle stage was when they placed the crown upon my head and made me relive what, up until then at least, had been the worst time of my life. Only the thought of what Gloss is going through and the thought of seeing him again makes me keep walking. If I can help him then I will, even if it means doing this.

"Tiberius!" calls Ursala, and I look further down the pathway to see a tall, powerfully built figure heading towards us in the almost darkness. For a second, when I can't see his face, he reminds me so sharply of Corvinus that it's like seeing a ghost.

Then he steps into the circle of light provided by the ornate lamp we wait by and I can't stop myself from staring for a different reason. He's dressed all in black, the fabric of his shirt pulled tight across his chest and shoulders, and the sleeves are cut short so the many scars on the olive-toned skin of his arms are clearly visible in the dim light. It all combines to make him appear more intimidating than ever, almost deliberately so, and the part of me which doesn't want to shrink away in fear is intrigued to know why.

"Give it 'til morning and your Meg will be able to have that coat or whatever else it is you think she needs," he says in a low voice to Ursala, barely even glancing at me. "But don't forget that you owe me, Barbieri."

"I won't," she says quickly, touching her hand to his arm and then beckoning to me.

I nod but don't take my eyes off Tiberius as the fragments of what I've seen and heard combine to fall shockingly into place. His eyes narrow and I know he sees my understanding in my expression but I still can't make myself move.

Before I can react he steps forward and reaches behind me, grasping a fistful of my hair at the back of my neck and pulling down so I have to tilt my head and keep looking up into his dark eyes.

"You couldn't afford me, Little Miss de Montfort," he growls, "but you'll regret it if you ever breathe a word of what you've worked out."

I stare up at him because I have no choice, conscious of how I'd probably fall down if he let me go and trying to get my balance again in case he does.

"We all have our secrets, Silvestri," I reply, feeling pleased with myself at how steady my voice is as I suddenly understand what he thought I already knew. He's being like this because whatever he did tonight is something well and truly off the president's record and for Megaera's benefit not his. "And I've had a lot of practice at keeping them."

"She's okay, Tiberius," interrupts Ursala, sounding totally unfazed. "She won't tell. Go and watch Meg for me. Please."

He tightens his grip one final time, forcing me to arch my back and lean into him before abruptly releasing me and walking away. He doesn't turn around even once as I stare after him.

"Come on. We'll be late," says Ursala, the sound of her voice making me jump.

I nod and we continue quickly down the pathway, fortunately not seeing anyone else as we go.

"It makes him angry, what he has to do," she says quietly. "Not that that bothers them when that's what they pay for."

I shiver even in the warm summer air. "It never ends, does it?"

Ursala shakes her head but doesn't get chance to speak because as soon as we step out from behind the side of the Training Centre building we are immediately engulfed by a sea of reporters, camera crews and what looks like the entire population of the Remake Centre.

"Cashmere, you're late," admonishes a very familiar voice, and I look to my side to see Charis link her arm through mine and weave us through the crowd more quickly than I thought possible.

She drags me through the Training Centre doors and along the enclosed corridor which leads to the underside of the stage before I have chance to panic about my confined surroundings, babbling continuously about the events in the arena and the reactions the Capitol citizens have had to them. When we reach our destination, Drusilla attacks me with her many make-up brushes and hair products, and five minutes later Charis reappears to lead me to the steps. That is about the time I suddenly realise I have no idea what to expect or what this interview is even about.

One thing I do expect is to go on the stage straight away, but I soon realise that isn't going to happen. The first person announced is Fortune, and he strides past without even looking at me, waving at the crowd gathered on the grass in the middle of the City Circle like he's really enjoying this. Knowing him, even as little as I do, I don't find it at all hard to believe that he is.

Some time later a considerably more made up than usual Ursala moves to stand beside me, her black sequinned dress sparkling in what little light reaches down here from the stage above. She raises her eyebrows and shrugs her shoulders, but then we both spin around in response to the very annoyed voice coming from behind us.

"How many times do I have to say it? I'm not dead yet. I'm quite capable of getting myself on the stage without your help."

Ursala and I both grin at the sight of Mags as she hobbles along towards the steps with at least three totally defeated-looking Capitol officials trailing behind her.

"But think of how it will look if you have to struggle," says the bravest one tentatively.

"There isn't a person in Panem who doesn't know who I am, young lady," retorts District Four's second most famous mentor cantankerously. "And they all know exactly how old I am as well so they'll just have to be patient."

"Hello Mags," says Ursala with a smile as she draws level with us.

"Ursala," she replies, nodding slightly. "Cashmere," she continues, repeating the gesture in my direction. "It looks like you'll have to wait a bit longer because they've told me I'm next. To think that they wanted to carry me onto the stage. Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous? I hate to imagine what Finnick and Pela would say if they knew. I'd never hear the end of it from either of them."

My breath catches at her mention of Finnick Odair, who is rumoured to be in the Capitol even though he isn't directly involved with the Games this year, but if his former-mentor notices then she's too busy getting herself onto the stage unassisted to comment. I haven't seen him anywhere other than in the papers, not even before my voluntary confinement in the Control Room, and at this point I'm grateful for small mercies.

"Looks like they're sending us up in order of popularity then," says Ursala in the usual dry tone she has when she can't say what she's really thinking. "I guess you're the headline act."

I look at the clock on the wall and roll my eyes. Every second I'm here is a second I'm away from Gloss, and I'd put money on the fact that the Gamemakers won't halt events in the arena just because the mentors are being interviewed. However a short time later Ursala is called and then before I know it I hear the fanfare of trumpets and the loud music again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to introduce my final guest of the evening - Miss Cashmere de Montfort!"

I walk up the steps and onto the stage to the accompaniment of almost deafening applause, forcing myself to wave and smile at the crowd, to walk with my back straight and my head held high when really all I can think is that I hope this is over soon. I can feel their greedy eyes on me already and looking into the front row of the crowd is enough to make my skin crawl. 'Think of Gloss, Cashmere,' I tell myself, 'you have to think of Gloss. He needs you and you can't let him down.'

"It's been a long time since I've had the pleasure of seeing you on this stage, Cashmere," says a still-orange Caesar, greeting me like a long lost friend and making me realise what Gloss meant when he said it was hard to concentrate on anything but the presenter's alarming brightness. "You look even more beautiful than I remember."

"I try my best," I reply with the smug smile that used to come naturally but I now have to work hard to achieve.

"And you succeed brilliantly. Doesn't she?" he calls, raising his arm to the crowd who obediently chorus 'yes!' in response. I mentally cringe and hope my reaction isn't visible. "Now, tell me, how do you feel now your brother has reached the final seven? Can he win the Games?"

"I'm proud of him," I answer eventually, struggling to find words. "I always was, and I know he will return to me. He will win. I believe in him and I hope those watching us now believe in him too."

"I'm sure they do. He's very popular in this city so I'm sure he has no shortage of sponsors."

I smile the fixed smile I've perfected for the cameras and let everything wash over me like it's happening to someone else and I'm merely looking down from above. Caesar asks me about everything from the Career Alliance and Gloss's decision to leave it to what I think of Titus and all of the controversy surrounding his actions in the arena, and I try to give him convincing answers without revealing too much. It seems to go on forever, probably because now I'm no longer a tribute there is no three minute time limit, but eventually he sits forward on his throne-like chair and I can tell it's almost over.

"One final question, Cashmere, and then we'll let you return to the Control Room," he says. "Do you have a message for the people watching at home? What do you want to say to those still deciding where to send their sponsorship money?"

I stare at him, totally lost for words. Gloss doesn't need more sponsors now but he might do before the Games come to an end. There must be something I can say to help him, to make them choose him over the others, but what? I briefly look behind me and see Ursala standing on the steps out of sight of the crowd, and seeing her makes me think about Tiberius and what he said earlier. I take a deep breath and turn back to Caesar before I lose my courage.

"My brother would be a worthy winner of the Games and he will fight to win. You will not regret it if you sponsor him, I can promise you that. He will do anything to wear the Victor's crown," I continue, looking directly into the nearest camera, "and I will do anything to get him out of the arena. Anything."

My final word hangs in the air, seeming to echo around the City Circle for eternity before the cheering and shouting of the crowd starts up again. I smile and wave as I leave the stage until I reach the steps and am out of sight. Once they can no longer see me, I kick off my sandals and race back down the corridor, through the Training Centre entrance hall and down the path to the Control Room. Only when I've left everyone else behind do I realise Ursala is still behind me. She says nothing as she follows me through the glass doors even though I can tell she wants to.

As soon as the second set of doors slide open, I see Falco rise to his feet and storm across the room towards me.

"Ursala, Gloss is nowhere near Megaera so it will cost you nothing to watch him for a few minutes," he snaps, grasping my wrist with bruising force. "There's something I need to discuss with Cashmere and it can't wait."

She nods and walks further into the room as Falco almost drags me back the way I came, not stopping until we reach the familiar bench that I've sat on so many times before. He pushes me down onto it and sits beside me. I can tell he's struggling to keep his emotions in check in case anyone's watching us, and for the first time in my life I'm grateful for the possible presence of hidden cameras. He sits there seething in silence for so long that eventually I decide I have to speak.

"What is it? Why are you so angry?"

He leans over so he can whisper in my ear, and quiet though his voice is, it somehow loses none of the rage which is still so obvious in his body language.

"You know why. How could you not? I heard what you said in that interview. Have you any idea what saying something like that means in a place like this?"

"I love you, Falco, but I love my brother too. I'd do anything to save him, even that."

"No," he replies, still whispering in my ear because we dare not speak of this any louder. "You will stay in that Control Room and you won't leave until the Games are over."

"You don't own me. You can't make my choices for me."

"I'm your district's Capitol escort," he replies, suddenly deliberately over-formal like he always is when he's truly angry. "It's my job to find sponsors for your brother, not yours."

"I'll do whatever it takes to keep Gloss alive. You already know that."

"But you don't have to. He's still alive. He's still fighting."

"I know," I reply, suddenly feeling so tired that I can hardly lean across to whisper to him. "And as long as he is then this isn't an issue, is it?"

"This is killing me, you know that, don't you? To watch you suffer and to be able to do nothing about it. To watch you go without food and sleep and get weaker and weaker even though you won't admit it. To see you for hours at a time every day but not be able to touch you or tell you what I'm really thinking."

"I know," I whisper, not daring to lean across when it's far too tempting to let my head rest on his shoulder and not move. "But he will win. I have to believe that because it's the only way I can carry on."

"He will win," he replies, speaking with a brightness I can tell immediately is forced if not entirely fake, making me unsurprised to see two purple-robed Gamemakers stroll down the path into view. "But not if the only person watching him is one of the other tributes' mentors," he continues, still in the same tone.

He rises to his feet and holds out his arm to me. I take it and we quickly go back inside, just in time to see Titus sink his spear into his fourth victim and hear the sound of the eighteenth cannon of the Games echo around both the arena and the Control Room.

The man from District Six immediately reaches down towards the boy from District Five who lies dead on the ground at his feet, but he doesn't get there. I hear no sound, but just before he touches the body of the fallen tribute, Titus is knocked backwards off his feet as if hit by some kind of invisible force.

"What's that?" I ask, running over to the big screen and dragging Falco with me as my mind goes into overdrive and imagines the same thing happening to Gloss.

"Plan A, I would imagine," replies Falco flatly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asks Tiberius, who somehow seems to radiate slightly less menace than he did last time we met.

"The viewers protested in their thousands. Something had to be done."

I suddenly understand what he means when I watch as the metal claw is lowered from the hovercraft so the dead boy can be taken from the arena. Whatever it was that hit Titus was brought to the arena by the Gamemakers as a way of stopping him from repeating his actions and cannibalising his fourth victim like he did his third. After all this time it seems something has finally happened that the Capitol can't bear to watch.

* * *

It's almost midnight on day twelve of the Games, and the only people in the Control Room are myself, Mags, Tiberius and the man from District Six whose name I still can't recall and have never quite managed to look up. Ursala went to get some sleep, surprisingly at Tiberius's insistence, and Falco went to yet another meeting. Or so he said anyway. Who he could possibly be meeting at midnight is something I couldn't begin to guess, and he certainly didn't feel able to tell me when the Gamemakers are only the thickness of the ceiling away.

I sigh as I look back at my screen to see Gloss curled up at the back of what I've come to think of as 'his' cave, shivering in the cold despite his warm coat and clutching the hilt of his sword so he can attack at a moment's notice should he need to. I stare at him as he sleeps fitfully, not blinking or looking away until Tiberius gives a short but almost startled sounding cough.

I turn my attention to the bigger screen on the wall in time to see Pelagia as she moves to Megaera's side of the fire. She immediately sits on the slightly bigger girl's lap without so much as a word of explanation, curling up and wrapping her arms tightly around the waist of her bewildered-looking ally.

"Not that I mind if you are that way inclined, District Four, but may I suggest that District One is a lot prettier than me and would be a lot less trouble," she says eventually, recovering her usually unshakable composure more quickly than I thought she would.

Pelagia laughs, a real laugh that sounds strange in a place as bleak and terrible as the arena.

"No offence, Meggie," she says teasingly, "but even if I was '_that way inclined_' thenyou wouldn't be my type. I'm freezing because my mentor won't send me another coat - yes, I know you're listening Mags - and I know you are too. I can feel you shivering. If you have another suggestion then let's hear it, but there's someone or something other than us hunting the tributes in this arena so I'm in no rush to make the fire bigger."

"She whines like a baby but she's as tough as nails really," says Mags when she notices my silent laughter. "Insolent little madam that she is."

I smile at the genuine affection I hear in the old woman's voice, for the briefest second feeling regret that the girl from Four will have to die. Then I remember Gloss and realise nothing could possibly compare to my need to see him again.

"But really…" replies Megaera, still protesting despite how I notice she doesn't push the other girl away.

"Body heat is better than blankets," says Pelagia firmly. "My dad used to tell me that's why the crews on the fishing boats sleep back to back at night. So they don't freeze."

"This is hardly the same situation."

"Are you warmer?"

"Well…I suppose so," replies the girl from District Two reluctantly.

"Then stop whinging," instructs Pelagia, shuffling around and tucking her head under Megaera's chin.

"Where's Nicon?"

"I'm not sure," replies the girl from the fishing district. "Honestly," she continues, seeming to sense the way Megaera narrows her eyes as she suspects she's being lied to.

"Is he coming back?"

"He didn't say he wasn't."

"Do we want him back?"

Pelagia turns around so she can look up at Megaera, meeting her eyes with an expression that's suddenly deadly serious.

"Nicon's my district partner. It isn't that late in the Games yet," she says, not missing her ally's subtle suggestion that she should betray him.

"Where _has _your boy gone?" I ask Mags, trying to stop myself from smiling as Pelagia turns around again and I see Megaera's arms tighten around her.

"You've heard him. He thinks it's your little brother making all those cannons fire. He wants the glory of bringing him down."

For a brief second I panic, but then I look up at the screen which shows Nicon as he pushes himself through the snow. The dark landscape I can see only because of the infrared lens on the camera reassures me that he's nowhere near Gloss so I refocus on the two girls in front of the fire.

"Pela?"

"What?" she mumbles in reply, not bothering to pull down her coat even though it covers the lower half of her face.

"Why are you here?"

"Is that a philosophical question?"

"No," replies Megaera, releasing her ally for long enough to half-heartedly cuff her around the head and then immediately pulling her close again. "I mean it. How did you end up here?"

"Didn't you watch the reaping, Meggie?" she retorts, the teasing note returning to her voice. "My name was called."

"But you can fight."

"So can you," answers Pelagia, and I know then that this conversation has gone far enough that it won't be reaching the living rooms and community halls of the districts.

"I volunteered."

"More fool you then."

"You wouldn't understand."

"No, I probably wouldn't, and I don't think you'd tell me if I asked you to explain."

"I wouldn't."

"You don't say much about yourself, do you?"

"It's not like you do either. And if you wanted conversation then maybe you should have gone after Pretty Boy-de Montfort."

"Maybe I should," replies Pelagia. "The last time either of us saw 'Pretty Boy-de Montfort' was when he annihilated your repulsive district partner and I haven't seen his picture in the sky yet. It seems he's more than a pretty face."

"I think the only one who didn't know that was Theodorus."

"You got that right."

Neither girl speaks for several minutes after that, and I watch them as they both stare into the fire, seemingly lost in thought. Megaera finally abandons all pretence and pulls her ally closer as the temperature continues to drop and the snow starts to fall again. Pelagia lets her, seeming to know as she has done all along that it's too soon for the girl from District Two to turn on her and that nothing will happen either until the morning or until Nicon returns, depending on which one comes first.

"What is going on?" snaps Ursala as she sweeps across the room towards Tiberius. "What is she doing? I taught her better than that. Allies is one thing but friendship in the arena gets you nothing but trouble and grief."

"She's cold," I offer, unsure why I'm getting involved and speaking just before Megaera does.

"Pelagia?"

"Yes?"

"Don't call me Meggie. If you do then I won't be held responsible for my actions."

Pelagia doesn't move, obviously sensing that this is probably the only threat Megaera has made since before the Games even started that isn't genuine, and Ursala slams her fist on the desk in front of her in response.

"If she was just cold then she'd put more crates on the fire."

* * *

Nobody speaks for a long time after Ursala's final rage-filled slam of her fist, not even the tributes in the arena. I turn to look at the District Two station, trying to think of something to say, but I quickly give up. What can I say? I know virtually nothing about Ursala and even less about Megaera, but what little I have seen tells me that they didn't meet for the first time on Reaping Day. I would go as far as calling Ursala my friend now, but that doesn't change the fact that she's fighting for her tribute's life as fiercely as I'm fighting for Gloss's. I quickly look back at my own computer and say nothing.

I narrow my eyes sharply at my brother's image, which is as blurred and out of focus as ever in the darkness of a cave that's only illuminated by the small fire he is just about keeping alight. I notice it immediately, as I have done since about this time yesterday. Something's changed. So far I have tried to deny it even to myself, but tonight I saw him watching the death recap with a very different look in his eyes and this confirms my suspicions. I can't tear my eyes away as he packs everything into his bag, making it clear he's made the decision not to hide away any longer.

"What's he doing?" I ask, trying to keep the panic I feel from my voice.

He can't move yet. Not with the four of his former allies still alive and District Six still on the loose. It's too soon. He needs to wait a bit longer. He needs to wait at least until the remnants of the Career Alliance disintegrates, which surely must be soon. He needs to wait until the Gamemakers make a decision about Titus.

"You know what he's doing or you wouldn't be asking me," replies Falco softly. "He's had enough of waiting for someone to find him."

"Not yet. Just a bit longer," I say, reaching over and depleting Gloss's sponsorship money by sending him some hot food, hoping he will stay where he is so he can eat it.

I watch as a silver parachute lands at the cave entrance. Seconds later Gloss reaches down for it and unwraps the package, shaking his head and smiling when he sees what it is.

"How long, Cash?" he whispers, still with that annoying knack of looking directly into a camera. "I can't stay here forever."

He doesn't look away for several seconds and despite my fear, that makes me smile. He and I have been playing this game since he left the Alliance, with me sending him small gifts and him saying something into the cameras which makes everything look very deliberate, like we're somehow communicating with each other without words. It was all I could think of to hold the audience's attention while he basically hides out and waits for the odds to become more in his favour, and so far it seems to be working. The only difference this time is that the gift really was supposed to convey a message, and unsurprisingly, he worked it out instantly.

"He's right, you know," says Falco, his voice almost tentative. "The odds won't stay in his favour if he doesn't fight back soon."

I snarl at him half-heartedly but say nothing, knowing there is nothing I can safely say in a place like this. I'm not stupid and I know how the Games work. I know that the second Gloss stops being interesting is the second the sponsorship money dries up, and I also know very well that there is no such thing as an unbiased Gamemaker. If he isn't playing along with their games then they won't support him, and I know better than most that sometimes all it takes is the equivalent of a well-placed flash of the lights to create the difference between life and death.

However that doesn't mean I want him to fight now. Let a couple more cannons fire and then he'll have no choice and neither will I, but I know Gloss better than anyone and I know that the less blood there is on his hands the better. Theodorus will already have affected him, I can tell just by watching him on the screen, so he doesn't need another five deaths on his conscience. Better to let some of them kill each other without him getting involved.

* * *

"This is it," whispers Falco, shaking me gently awake.

I sit bolt upright before he even has chance to release me, scanning every screen in the room and thinking something's happening to Gloss.

"Not Gloss," he says, making me relax instantly despite the almost tangible tension that surrounds me. "The others."

I look across the room and see both Tiberius and Ursala on their feet in front of the District Two monitoring station, totally transfixed by what they're watching. I turn the other way to see Mags leaning forwards towards her own screen, her fellow mentor standing behind her chair and watching just as intently, and I know I'm about to witness the breakdown of the final part of this year's Career Alliance.

The sun is just about rising in the arena, the dawn light reflecting off the endless snow, and the main camera is following Nicon as he returns to the Cornucopia where he left Megaera and Pelagia. Instead of walking straight back into their camp, he stands on the outskirts, concealing himself behind one of the many piles of rocks so he can watch them sleep, Pelagia still curled up on Megaera's lap.

At least five minutes pass and I see emotions ranging from anger to regret to determination cross his face, changing virtually every second. He draws his sword quickly and Ursala shouts her tribute's name, her voice echoing around the Control Room. Although I know it's impossible and that she's responding to the noise of Nicon's sword rather than her mentor's cry, Megaera jumps to her feet a split second after Ursala's instinctive reaction, taking Pelagia with her and drawing her sword instantly. The girl from the fishing district responds before she even sees their attacker is her district partner, and soon the three of them are circling each other, still holding onto their alliance for a few seconds longer as nobody quite dares to make the first move.

This is it. The beginning of the end. I know it's wrong, but all I feel is relief that Gloss isn't part of it.

* * *

_**I thought Chapter 15 would be the last part of the arena but I got a bit carried away... Which means the end of Gloss's arena will now be Chapter 16 ;) Thanks to my wonderful reviewers - if you all comment this time then I might get to 200 reviews, and that would be as nice as it would be shocking :)**_


	16. Chapter 16

**Firstly I will apologise because this is probably the longest chapter I have ever posted - the end of the arena took up a bit more space than I thought it would but I was determined not to split it into two parts...**

**Secondly I want to mention The Pearl Awards on Mockingjaydotnet, mostly because I was shocked to find myself nominated for such a large number of categories against loads of authors who have genuine writing talent! I feel flattered and unworthy in equal measure, so thank you :) **

Chapter Sixteen

The Capitol is going to be very disappointed, for there are very few things the Capitol loves more than a good show and it very soon becomes clear that they're not going to get one this year. There's no way they're going to get the hypnotising display of speed, strength and skill they got when Dahlia fought Corvinus, or even the intense battle of wills which resulted in Dahlia's cannon firing and me being crowned the victor of the Sixty-sixth Games. The players this year are too cold, too hungry, and maybe they just don't want it as badly.

Nicon is the main aggressor in this fight, no doubt because seeing the closeness of his district partner and the girl from District Two rightly made him fear betrayal, but even he doesn't seem to be giving it his all. He seems slightly nervous of Megaera as she circles around him, carefully never putting her back to Pelagia as if she isn't sure which way she'll turn and doesn't quite dare to allow herself to trust anyone.

"District Four, are we fighting or not?" she snarls eventually, narrowing her eyes even further at Nicon. "Either get on with it or put your sword down and put some more wood on the fire."

Something about her comment clearly touches a nerve, probably because she doesn't seem to be taking him at all seriously, and he steps towards her with a new determination. The expression on her face tells me that was just the reaction she wanted.

"We're fighting," he snaps, bringing his sword crashing towards her.

"He's nothing compared to her," whispers Ursala, not taking her eyes off her screen or her hand from her control panel. "She should take him down easily. Why isn't that boy dead?"

I say nothing, staying silent because I can't seem to find the right words when all I really feel is relief that Gloss isn't close enough to be involved. Nicon's mentor, who I've heard Mags address as 'Shay', continually calls instructions to his tribute even though the boy will never be able to hear him. I wish he wouldn't, and from the look on Tiberius's face, I get the impression that he feels the same and that District Four could soon find himself silenced on a more permanent basis.

A short time later, Ursala hisses at her computer as Megaera slips and Nicon's sword slides across her stomach, cutting through the fabric of her coat like it isn't there. She stumbles back, loses her footing and falls backwards off the rocky ledge the Cornucopia rests upon, not making a sound as she vanishes into the darkness. It isn't light enough for us to see where she lands, but that doesn't stop Ursala from rising to her feet and leaning closely to the big screen, desperate to know the fate of the girl who clearly means so much to her.

"She's not dead, 'Sala," says Tiberius steadily, moving to stand behind her and placing his hand firmly on her shoulder. "No cannon." Then he drops his voice so much I have to strain to hear his words even from this short distance away. "If Meg was brave enough to have a go at my girl at the trials last year then it'll take more than that half-trained boy to bring her down a year later."

Ursala says nothing but she seems to relax slightly, taking comfort in his unusually reassuring words. Hearing what he said makes me curious about what happened when Megaera tried to fight Dahlia and even more curious about why she wanted to fight her in the first place. I can't help thinking it can't have been a proper fight though, because Megaera's good but she isn't that good. I can't see her coming away unscathed enough to volunteer for the Games a year later if Dahlia had fought her and really meant it.

Everyone seems to hold their breath as Nicon approaches the ledge and cautiously peers down, squinting in the pale dawn light. I can't imagine he can see that well. I certainly can't on the television anyway, but I clearly hear the clatter of rocks tumbling down the slope and so does he.

"She can't be that badly hurt if she's running away," says Selene Fairfax, the shockingly over-the-top Capitol escort for District Two. This is probably the first time I've seen her in here, and she looks thoroughly put out that her tribute is hurt and not fighting back. I turn to look at Falco to find him already staring back at me. He smiles smugly, as if he knows I'm thinking how lucky I am that I work with him and not with someone like Selene Fairfax. It's takes a lot of effort to make myself look away.

"What would you know?" retorts Ursala in a low and very dangerous voice, her eyes still not leaving the screen in front of her. Selene does the sensible thing for what is probably the first time in my memory and says nothing at all in response.

Then it's Mags' turn to call out to nobody in particular as Nicon moves to go down the slope and Pelagia calls him back. I expect them to team up, understanding, as all people of the districts do, that tributes from the same district don't fight unless they've reached the point where there's no alternative.

That's why I'm as shocked as Pelagia when Nicon raises his sword again and charges towards her, his eyes full of the same fury that had been so obvious when he was fighting Megaera. He's clearly made his choice, taking the girl from Two's question literally and deciding that he's fighting, no matter what.

"Why?" calls Pelagia to her opponent as they face each other in front of the Cornucopia.

"This is the Hunger Games, what did you expect?"

"Your loyalty until the rest of the cannons fire," she growls, the bright and outgoing girl I've become accustomed to watching suddenly just a distant memory. "Your life will be a misery if you win now."

"I can live with it," he replies, subtly moving around and backing her towards the Cornucopia.

"Look," says Mags, and I turn to her, thinking she's talking to me or to someone else in the room. "Look what he's doing. Come on, girl, fight."

I turn away when I realise she's talking to Pelagia, feeling strangely like I'm intruding on a private conversation. Everyone else in the room seems to feel the same, and nobody says a word as we powerlessly watch the battle progress in the bitterly cold and bleak arena from the relative comfort of our armchairs and the suffocating warmth of the Control Room.

It's no good though, no matter what Mags says. The girl from the fishing district's eyes occasionally drift to the ledge Megaera seemed to tumble from, but I can almost see her mind reeling and not once does she look behind her. By the time she swings her sword back and the tip of the blade hits the frozen metal of the golden horn, it's too late. There's nowhere for her to go and she doesn't last long after that. From the look on her face she knows it's all over way before Nicon flicks his sword up and cuts her throat.

She falls to the ground and a couple of seconds later her cannon fires. Mags' usual unbreakable self-control vanishes as she punches her computer screen and screams, a chilling sound of anger and grief.

"Don't you dare let that boy touch her," she growls at her fellow mentor when Nicon starts to crouch down and go through the pockets of Pelagia's coat.

A short time later a silver parachute hits him on the head, and though I don't see what it contains, whatever it is makes Mags' message as loud and clear as the insults the old woman directs at him are to me. He swiftly rises to his feet and heads off over the ledge, presumably after Megaera.

I stand up and walk around my desk, suddenly realising that District One is now the only district with both tributes still alive. I look up at the big wall of photographs, drinking in Gloss's still-illuminated image and sighing with relief that he did what I wanted and stayed in his cave a bit longer. I know he can't hide forever, but every cannon that fires means there is one less person standing between him and victory.

However my attention is suddenly caught when the picture on the screen ahead of me changes. I'm no longer watching Nicon as he scrambles down the rocky and snow-covered slope. I'm now watching Megaera as she pulls herself back over the ledge with one hand, the other covered in blood and clamped to her wound.

"Smart girl," observes Falco, realising at the same time as I do that she hadn't gone anywhere and had simply hidden from view, throwing loose rocks down the slope so Nicon thought she had.

"But not quick enough," says Tiberius.

"She slipped," adds Ursala immediately. "She'll be fine."

Then we all watch in silence as Megaera approaches Pelagia's body, and for a brief moment I think she's going to go through the girl's pockets like her district partner tried to. Then she proves me wrong.

"I'm sorry, Pela," she whispers. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't have fought him like this and I want to live."

I stare unblinkingly at the screen as the girl from District Two somehow ignores her injury for long enough to pull her friend around so she lies almost neatly at the base of the Cornucopia, no longer slumped against the golden horn where Nicon left her. Megaera folds her fallen ally's arms across her chest so her hands rest over her heart before reaching across to touch her fingertips to the girl from the fishing district's forehead.

"Now you are free," she breathes, looking down at Pelagia before she turns and stumbles away, the trail of blood she leaves clearly visible against the stark whiteness of the snowy ground beneath her feet.

As soon as the picture on the big screens changes to show the hovercraft taking Pelagia from the arena, Tiberius gets up and pushes a slightly stunned-looking Ursala away from their part of the Control Room. He doesn't stop until they're well out of earshot of the rest of us, and I watch them whispering to each other, no doubt trying to come up with a plan that will keep Megaera together for long enough for her to win.

"Why they wouldn't let me escort your district, I have no idea," says Selene Fairfax in her grating voice to me as she walks past on her way to the door, obviously intent on making a quick exit now Megaera looks too broken to win. "Then I wouldn't have to deal with their barbarism every year. Honestly, if you only knew what I have to put up with."

Fortunately for her, she doesn't stop to hear my response to that and simply keeps walking. I suppose it's fortunate for me too. I will have to ask Falco what the punishment would be for knocking out another district's Capitol escort, because if I have to spend another moment in that woman's company then I suspect the temptation will become too great for me to ignore.

Then I look across to see Mags staring at the wall of photographs, the wall where Pelagia's picture has just blacked out, and I exchange glances with Falco before getting up and walking towards her. She turns to face me, holding my gaze steadily despite her obvious grief.

"I'm sorry," I say eventually, my words sounding inadequate even to my own ears.

"That's a bit of a change from last year," she replies sharply, obviously referring to Octavian and Marcia.

"I was sorry then as well," I retort, my tone just as sharp. "You killed to survive so don't be such a hypocrite."

"I'm an old woman, Cashmere. I think I've earned the right to a little hypocrisy."

"Perhaps," I reply, moving quickly towards her when she seems to wobble precariously on her feet. The look she gives me makes me think again and keep my distance, letting her get back to her chair without assistance.

"I was there on the day she was born," she says, not looking at me as she speaks. "I loved her like I loved my own daughter."

"I know," I say, noticing her use of the past tense in reference to her daughter and wanting to ask what happened to her. I don't quite dare.

"How could you possibly know?" she snaps, scowling in a way that tells me she must have been a truly formidable tribute in her day.

"The way you spoke of her yesterday. It was obvious."

She stares thoughtfully back at me but doesn't reply for so long that I start to think she isn't going to. Then she shakes her head and reaches for the seashell necklace that has been on her desk ever since the Games started. I guess it was Pelagia's but I don't quite dare ask that either.

"I knew her parents," she says quietly, twisting the necklace around in her wrinkled hands. "They met when I was…teaching them."

I deduce that means she trained them for the Games in case they were reaped, knowing that Mags knows better than to say those words in the middle of the Control Room. Part of me wonders why she's telling me this, but the rest of me realises that I could be anyone, that she's talking to herself more than she's talking to me.

"They moved to the fishing village closest to the city when they married. I mean the city in District Four," she adds, clearly noticing my confused look. "Her father all but ran that place once they settled there, nobody argued with him. That's the way things are where I come from. As long as the fishing quotas are met and everyone does as they're told then the Capitol let them get on with it. I saw them every month or so for the next few years, until one day two children appeared on my doorstep, a girl and a boy. She was as bold as brass, she was. 'You taught my parents and I want you to teach me,' she said. She wouldn't take no for an answer. He said nothing, he just stood behind her and let her do the talking, but he was stunning to look at even then."

"Finnick Odair," I say, working it out without having to really ask.

"Yes," she replies. "He came from the same village and they were inseparable. After they'd been out in the boats they'd walk the couple of miles to the Victor's Village and get under my feet. As you know, he was only fourteen when he was reaped and I should have known better than to let them stay friends after that. They were only ever just friends but that means nothing to the reporters."

I know what she means without her having to say it. There is no such thing as a coincidence in the reaping. That's why they say that some families are unlucky, that having a Victor for a parent or a sibling who was reaped increases your chances of being sent to the Capitol by many, many times in every district but One and Two. Though Finnick and Pelagia weren't related, once Finnick won Sapphire's Games and became the Capitol's latest object of desire, even his childhood friendships wouldn't go unnoticed.

"And now I've got to face her father and explain to him how I lost her."

"It wasn't your fault," I tell her softly. "You couldn't have done any more for her. You've mentored enough times to know how powerless we are sometimes."

"You're very observant, Cashmere. And you're wiser than most, especially considering where you're from. Perhaps you should put that to good use."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, ignoring her insult to my district as I realise this conversation could be taking a dangerous turn, especially if my suspicions that she knows Falco through the almost-rebellion are true.

"Only that you should be concentrating on your tribute and not listening to the ramblings of an old woman," she says, her expression telling me she knows I know what she really meant.

"I really am sorry for your loss," I say as I slowly move back towards the District One station when I see Ursala and Tiberius returning, still speaking to each other in hushed voices.

"I am sorry for yours," she replies quietly, and I know she's talking about Sapphire even before she continues. "And I know you can't forgive him but my boy is sorry too. He told me so."

"I can't, but I know."

* * *

By the time I get back to my computer, all of the other screens show a silver parachute floating down into the arena to land next to Megaera. She sits leaning against a rock, still holding her hand to her wound, and when she reaches for her gift I can see how much of an effort it is. She grits her teeth and perseveres though, and I'm not surprised. I know better than to expect anything less from District Two by now.

"What have you sent her, Barbieri?" calls the man from District Four from his station a short distance away. "I can't imagine you can afford much at this late stage, especially when she's as injured as she is. Who'd want to sponsor a dying tribute?"

"Watch your mouth or I'll make you," snarls Tiberius immediately, looking very much like he's about to get up and carry out his threat whether Shay speaks again or not.

"Leave it," whispers Ursala, her words audible to me but certainly not to either of the mentors from the fishing district. "He'll see for himself in a minute and he won't be so cocky."

I immediately understand what she means once Megaera opens the parcel that was attached to the parachute even though I can't yet see what it contains. It's something worth having and more than she expected, I can tell just by the expression on her face.

"You expect her to stitch herself up in the middle of the arena?" asks Fortune incredulously.

I glare at him, no longer having the strength to hide the disgust I feel when I look at him. If you ask me then he's only here now because Diamond's reached the last five and that means there's a bigger chance they'll ask for him on the Flickerman Show again. And it seems that Ursala thinks the same because she completely ignores him, her eyes not leaving Megaera for a second.

I doubt what my fellow mentor was saying as much as I usually do until I see the girl from District Two take a deep and obviously painful breath before unfastening her coat and lifting up her shirt to reveal the gaping wound on her stomach. She tips what I'm assuming must be some kind of alcohol over it, biting her lip until it bleeds so she doesn't cry out in pain, and then narrows her eyes in concentration as she uses the tiny silver needle to drag the black thread through her skin and pull the wound closed. She doesn't make a sound the whole time.

"You still think she's going to win, don't you?" I ask Ursala, who nods her head but doesn't look at me.

"Do you have faith in your brother, Cashmere?"

"Of course," I reply immediately.

"Would you give up on him even a split second before his cannon fired?"

"Never," I answer just as quickly.

"Then you know the answer to your own question."

I incline my head, conceding the point to her, and when I look up at the screen again, I am shocked to see Megaera pushing a different needle into her skin, this time one attached to a phenomenally expensive Capitol-made syringe full of medication. My head snaps back to Ursala and this time she turns to face me, her eyes willing me not to say anything. I look from her to Tiberius and back again.

"Yes," she says. "I owe him a lot."

"Miss de Montfort? Miss Barbieri?"

"What?" calls Ursala to the uniformed servant who crosses the room towards us as quickly as he can without running. "Can't you see I'm a bit busy?" she continues, gesturing to Megaera on the screen.

"I've been sent to ask you both to step outside and answer a few questions about the events of the Games so far. The people of the city want to hear your thoughts."

"My girl nearly died," she snarls, her voice rising as quickly as her anger. "Give me a chance."

I stand up and walk around my desk, putting myself between Ursala and the messenger before she says or does something she shouldn't.

"Participation isn't optional, Barbieri," I tell her firmly. "You told me that once and now it's my turn to tell you."

Her shoulders sink as she realises she's as powerless here as she ever was and that she has no choice but to follow this man from the room.

"Watch her," she instructs Tiberius. "I mean it."

He smirks and says nothing, but when she opens her mouth to speak again he nods his head and turns his attention to the girl in the arena. I walk back around to where Falco still sits, making sure that Gloss hasn't moved and that there are no others near him. Titus, Nicon and Megaera are on the other side of the Cornucopia and Diamond is a long way away. If I have to leave the Control Room for what I think will be the last time before the final reckoning then it seems that now is the best time to do it.

"Send him some more food," I tell Falco quietly.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he retorts, smirking back at me. "Would you like me to do anything else for you? Polish the desk? Get you a bottle of champagne and some strawberries?"

I roll my eyes, wishing we weren't in the middle of the Control Room so I could say what I really want to say in response.

"I am scandalised, Miss de Montfort," he says, teasing me as if he can read my mind and knows what I'm thinking.

I smile before suddenly becoming serious once more. "I meant it about the food. He looks hungry."

Falco nods and gestures towards the door, where Ursala still waits for me, impatiently tapping her foot on the floor. I look at him one last time before reluctantly following the servant from the room.

* * *

Once I get past the first set of glass doors, I see them immediately. The mob of reporters and camera crews starts outside the front of the Control Room building and extends further than the eye can see. It seems they know the end is getting closer too, and none of them want to miss out on what could be the last big mentor's interview before the trumpets sound for the newest Victor.

"Why us?" asks Ursala. "Why not Fortune or Shay?"

"I'm supposed to be impartial to tonight's events because Gloss wasn't there," I reply, speaking with more than a hint of bitterness. "And Megaera just fooled her former ally into thinking that she'd ran away before stitching her own wounds up in total silence with no anaesthetic while still managing to look very much like she's going to go after the aforementioned former ally to seek revenge. I think I know who's winning the award for the most exciting tribute tonight."

Ursala curls her lip in disgust but doesn't get chance to say anything because the second set of doors slide open and we're abruptly hit with a deafening wall of sound. We're quickly escorted onto a small makeshift stage and the spotlights fall upon us, reminding me sharply of being a tribute in the City Circle on interview night. I'm unable to stop myself from shuddering however hard I try and I hope the people watching don't notice.

The reporters fire questions at us for what feels like hours, and I can't help feeling grateful that I'm allowed to stand shoulder to shoulder with Ursala while they do. I've got used to having her there, and it doesn't seem to be making much of a difference that Gloss and Megaera are both still alive and in the same arena. She realises there's nothing we can do to change that and I do too. Being able to feel the way her body trembles as much as mine does when we face the Capitol crowds makes this horror slightly easier to bear, and though her ingrained District Two bravado would never allow her to admit it, I get the impression my presence helps her too.

Some of the questions I answer and some I don't, choosing to ignore the ones that aren't worth the risk, the ones that might lead me to inadvertently say something I shouldn't. It isn't just me I have to think about. If I don't watch my words then Gloss will probably suffer before I do. I just wish they'd all go away. Anything could be happening in the arena so I wish they'd let me go back inside.

Eventually they reluctantly let us go, or should I say the officials do their best to escort us from the stage while the mob surges forwards as they attempt to take one more picture or ask one more question. I fight my way through in the end, desperate to get back to the Control Room, and it's only when I'm safely behind the first set of glass doors that I stop, taking a couple of seconds to compose myself before the other mentors see me. That's when I hear the cannon fire.

Ursala and I exchange petrified glances and race forwards together, pushing through the second door when it's barely slid open wide enough to let us in. We don't stop until we're standing in the middle of the vast room, looking frantically around at the mass of screens.

"Who?" asks Ursala, looking across at Tiberius.

I don't have to wait for his response to know because I find myself staring at the wall that bears the photographs of the tributes. My brother's image is the only one still visible under the District One banner and that can only mean one thing. Diamond is dead. The cannon was hers.

"Almost as soon as you left they drove them together so they had to fight," says Mags, who still hasn't moved from her desk and still hasn't let go of the seashell necklace she continues to twist around in her hands. "It was always going to happen. She got weak being out there on her own and District Six wore her down eventually. She fought bravely but she just wasn't strong enough."

I turn to the screen behind her in time to see Titus as he is thrown backwards away from the figure at his feet by the same invisible force that kept him away from his last victim. Whatever it is must have rendered him unconscious, because once he hits the ground he doesn't move. The camera quickly pans away from him as if the Gamemakers don't want the audience to see.

What I see instead is an image of Diamond, lying on the floor where she fell, her long blonde hair spread over the snow underneath her head. Any major wound she has is concealed from view, and despite the superficial cuts and bruises to her face, she almost looks like she's simply fallen asleep.

For a long time nobody speaks, and it's so utterly quiet that I imagine I can still hear her cannon echoing around the room. I find it hard to feel as much sadness at her death as I know I should. Though I mourn the pointless loss of another life, there will always be a big part of me that feels nothing but relief that it isn't Gloss who is being lifted from the ground by the frozen metal claw of the hovercraft. She was always going to have to die and I didn't want my brother to be the one to kill her. Well, I didn't want him to kill at all, but that isn't the point and became irrelevant from the moment he stepped onto the stage on reaping day.

However that doesn't change the fact that Diamond died with neither mentor from her district watching her from the Control Room, and though I can't honestly say it isn't too late in the Games for me to have helped her for the second time, I still feel slightly sick at the thought.

"You were right," says Falco. "I mean what you said about madness making a person strong. Like Mags said, they fought and she wasn't strong enough. There was nothing anyone could have done from here."

"But she should have been able to win. She wasn't as strong but she was way more skilled."

"You're not the only one who thought that," he says cryptically, and I stare at him for a few seconds before everything falls into place.

It all makes sense. From what Mags said, I can take it that the Gamemakers engineered the meeting between Titus and Diamond because they wanted him to finally have to confront someone who in theory should have the ability to bring him down. The Capitol doesn't like what the man from District Six is attempting to do to his victims and those in positions of power certainly don't want a madman winning the Games. The Gamemakers had to do something and Diamond was physically the closest tribute at the time so she was the logical choice. The only problem is that the plan backfired because she didn't win.

Then suddenly my attention is drawn away and everything else is forgotten when the small screen on my computer shows Gloss rising to his feet and picking up his bag.

"Only three others left, Cash," he says quietly into the camera. "It's time."

I watch as he leaves the cave and makes his way along the narrow path, his arms folded tightly across his chest as he moves as quickly as he can in an attempt to keep warm. As the next couple of hours pass, he keeps going, getting closer and closer to the scene of Diamond's death. I want to try and do something to divert him, to send him far away from where I know Titus lies, slowly recovering from what the Gamemakers did. However I can't because the path he followed is the only route available to him and he can't turn back even if he wanted to. An altogether too convenient avalanche blocked the way a short time ago, telling me as surely as Gloss did that the time has come for him to fight.

* * *

"I need to do something. Quickly," I say, frantically pushing buttons on the control panel in front of me without really knowing what I'm looking for, not watching what I'm doing and sending papers and glasses flying as a result. "Falco, tell me what to do! I don't know what to do!"

"There's nothing you can do," he replies, and I notice that even he can't maintain his usual veneer of calm as we watch Gloss walk slowly across the clearing towards Titus.

"There must be something," I insist, staring unblinkingly at the screen in front of me as the man from District Six reaches for his spear, his eyes frantically darting from side to side despite how he heads straight towards my brother. "I have to help him."

"He has to help himself, Cashmere," says Mags from the chair she hasn't left since Pelagia died. "There's nothing more you can do for him now."

Reluctantly acknowledging that she speaks the truth, I prise my hands from the control panel and walk around my desk so I'm closer to the big screen, not really wanting to look but at the same time being unable to tear my eyes away.

Gloss is looking intently at Titus, standing poised as if he's ready to dart back and out of the way at a split second's notice. To everyone else watching, I suspect he looks emotionless, his face a mask of determination, but I can see differently. I can see him working everything out in the same way he used to work out a plan to get something past Father or Satin when we were children. He hasn't seen Titus since the first day of the Games, possibly even before that, but I can tell he sees the madness in his opponent's eyes. I wish I couldn't, but I can also see the hint of fear in his posture, and the hint of reluctance because he knows he will have to kill for the second time.

"Fight him, Gloss," I growl at his image on the screen. "You have to fight. You have to live."

I vaguely register Falco's presence beside me just as Gloss launches himself towards Titus, trying to get the other man's back to the wall of rock that towers above them both. I hear myself cry out but this time I don't care what the other mentors think. I've watched this man kill five times already, and though I can barely allow myself to even consider such a thing, part of me knows that this is a fight my brother might not win.

Titus responds by charging towards Gloss, throwing his spear wildly at him as he goes. Gloss dodges the weapon easily and casually, deliberately showing his opponent's lack of training and skill to the watching audience. However Titus doesn't falter and just keeps going, pulling a sword from his belt as he does. A second later their two blades clash, the sound ringing out around the Control Room as loudly as it does around the arena.

"Where did the sword come from?" I ask, hoping desperately that it wasn't a gift from a sponsor he received while I was being interviewed.

"It was Diamond's," replies Falco quietly, and disgusted though I am by that, I breathe a small sigh of relief.

It soon becomes clear that the man from Six has no more real skill with a blade than he does with a spear, but he is strong, stronger than Gloss, and as the fight continues that extra strength starts to show. Every time he brings his sword up to meet my brother's, I can see the effort it's taking Gloss to hold him off, and even when he's on the defensive, Titus always seems to manage to get away.

After an interminable amount of time it starts to get dark in the arena. I haven't moved from my previous position and they are still fighting.

"What if he doesn't win?" I whisper, reluctantly forcing myself to consider the worst, or at least tell myself I'm doing so despite the reality being that I can't even begin to comprehend a world without Gloss in it.

Falco moves slightly so he can rest his hand next to mine on the metal rail that surrounds the screen, still not quite touching me.

"It's not over until the cannon fires, Butterfly," he whispers back, his voice barely audible even to me. "You know that better than almost anyone."

I nod without taking my eyes off Gloss, and the next second I scream when he loses his footing almost exactly like Megaera did when she was fighting Nicon. Titus immediately kicks out, knocking my brother's legs from underneath him and sending him crashing to the floor.

"No, Gloss, please," I whimper, falling to my knees in front of the screen.

Titus pulls his sword back, wobbling slightly as he struggles to maintain his balance after the effort of bringing Gloss down but still preparing to make his sixth kill of the Games. Then I cry out for a different reason as my brother suddenly draws his legs up towards his chest and punches them forwards straight into Titus, who reels back, allowing him time to get back to his feet.

Gloss attacks again, but I can see how his time in the arena has made him weak. If he doesn't win this bout then he'll lose the fight. He doesn't have the strength to go on much longer, and I think he knows it too, for he drives Titus back with every last ounce of determination he has left, sending him steadily towards the rock wall.

"Look!" shouts Tiberius, but though I hear him I don't turn away from the screen. "Look at the rocks!"

Something about his tone of voice makes me do as he says, and I focus on the wall of stone behind Titus, noticing how some of the rocks seem to be breaking away from the main structure.

"Just a bit further," says Falco quietly. "Come on, Gloss, a bit more."

I know he can't, but it almost seems like my brother can hear him, for as soon as he falls silent Gloss surges forwards again, sending Titus directly into the shadow of the wall. I hear almost everyone gasp as the rocks suddenly fall faster and faster, bringing masses of snow and ice with them as they crash down onto the fighting tributes below. They are both buried in seconds, and virtually as soon as they disappear, the sound of a single cannon fills the room.

Nobody speaks or even moves as we literally wait for the dust to settle, and as the rocks shift to reveal a battered and bruised but most definitely alive Gloss, I can't stop the tears from streaming down my face. Falco reaches down and half lifts me to my feet, leading me over to my chair and pushing me into it. He sits beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder, but I turn around and put my arms around him, clinging to him tightly as my sobs rack my body.

He tries to push me away to start with, and what little of me is capable of rational thought knows I shouldn't be holding onto him quite so tightly in public, but he soon gives up, pulling me closer and letting me cry.

"I thought he was going to die," I manage to gasp eventually. "They were fighting and he wasn't winning."

Falco looks around the room, no doubt checking to see nobody is still watching us, but he needn't have worried. Everyone is either focusing on their own tribute or talking amongst themselves about the latest and by far the most controversial cannon to fire in this year's Games.

"But he's still alive. He's reached the last three."

"You knew," I whisper, hardly daring to speak the words as it dawns on me that the avalanche that killed Titus was no accident. "You knew what would happen."

"I guessed," he replies. "You know why."

I nod, not really caring about the morality of the Gamemakers when their actions most likely saved my brother's life. Falco shakes his head to silence me when I start to speak again, his gesture telling me that it isn't safe to discuss such things in a place like this. My immediate reaction is to wonder how the Gamemakers are going to deal with this. Are they going to admit to what happened or are they going to cover it up and say it was all an accident? I don't know the answer to that, but if I had to guess then I would say they are going to do neither of those things. I would say they are going to put Titus on Gloss's Kill List and pretend the whole thing, from the cannibalism to the avalanche, never happened. If they do then it wouldn't be the first time and it certainly won't be the last.

* * *

Sure enough, just as I thought would happen, a short time after Titus's body was taken from the arena, his name appears under Theodorus's beside Gloss's photograph. Everyone left in the Control Room sees it at the same time as I do and I can hear them all whispering about it, no doubt discreetly speculating about the reality of what happened.

"The only thing we know is that your little brother didn't kill him," says Ursala quietly.

"His name's on Gloss's Kill List," I reply carefully, staring into her dark-brown eyes and willing her not to say anything else.

Despite my warning, she's got that 'I don't care anymore' look she sometimes has and I can tell she's about to speak again. I quickly stand up and turn to Falco.

"I'm going to get some fresh air. I won't go far so if anything happens-"

"-you want to know about it," he replies, finishing my sentence as he sometimes does now.

I nod before beckoning to Ursala. "Come with me?"

"Why?"

"Please."

She sighs but follows me from the room a lot more willingly than I expected. I don't know why she's speaking so freely inside a place like the Control Room, I guess it's the shock of what happened to Megaera, but I've come to think of her as my friend and I don't want her to forget herself and end up in trouble.

As I walk outside from the stuffiness of the Control Room, I breathe a sigh of relief as I take in the cool evening air. I should be anxious. I should be frantic with worry. I know that and in a way I am, but for some reason I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. For whatever reason, the Gamemakers engineered that avalanche, and they chose to do it at a time which could well have saved Gloss's life. They didn't have to do it then and yet they chose to keep my brother alive. That's got to count for something, especially when there are only two other tributes left now and one of them is severely injured and the other isn't trained well enough to be Gloss's equal.

"Why are we out here?" asks Ursala, her voice abruptly reminding me of her presence.

"Because I wanted some air," I reply softly. "And because you sounded very much like you were about to say something you shouldn't."

"I didn't mean for the words to come out," she says. "I'm tired but I'm not that stupid, Cashmere, and I think we all know the truth of what we saw without having to discuss it openly."

"I just thought…"

"I know you did," she tells me softly. "'Straea said that you'd be like this if I gave you the chance."

"Like what?" I reply, puzzled by her comment.

"Totally unlike the image you create for yourself," she says with a half-smile. "You're actually quite nice really, aren't you?"

"To some people," I say back, returning her smile. "But don't tell anyone."

She laughs, pushing me back in the direction of the Control Room. "Come on. It won't be long now."

I nod, walking ahead of her and mostly wishing it was all over. I don't know how much more of this I can take and I want to see Gloss so badly that it hurts. If he can just keep going for a little bit longer, if he can just keep fighting, maybe I will get my wish.

Then for the first time I notice yet another television screen, this one on the wall in the narrow space between the two sets of doors, and when I look at it, I once more find Satin's face staring back at me. I stop to watch her even though the sound is muted so I can't hear her words, gazing into her brown eyes. Gloss's eyes, I suddenly realise, and I have no idea how I didn't see that before now.

"Who's she?" asks Ursala, also stopping in front of the television.

"My sister."

"She doesn't look much like you," she replies. "Not really. I bet she's stubborn like you are though. I can see it in her face."

"She looks like our mother. And yes, she's stubborn. She makes me look like a pushover."

"And she didn't want to be the first de Montfort to achieve Hunger Games glory?" she asks, her expression one of flattering disbelief at my suggestion that my sister could be more formidable than I. I've come to know Ursala so well over the past weeks that I don't miss the sarcasm in her voice for a second.

"She's Father's heir," I reply. "She's too important. It was only for show when she raced for the stage at her last reaping six years ago."

"Lucky her," she says, and I nod without really hearing her comment.

My talk of my father suddenly makes me wonder. Why isn't it him on the screen? I remember Gloss telling me last year that Father didn't miss a single opportunity to benefit from my new fame and success, even before I'd won the Games, and now Gloss is in the final three. So why isn't he there using the publicity to achieve his own ends? From what I've seen he needs all the help he can get, because the Capitol is choosing his rivals more often than not now and he's not far from being in serious trouble. So why allow Satin to steal his time in the spotlight? It doesn't make sense.

"Come on," says Ursala, grabbing my arm and dragging me towards the door as Satin is replaced onscreen by Caesar Flickerman.

I let her, deciding that I don't have time to dwell on my father's motivations even though I'm sure there must be some kind of scheme or plot involved somewhere. Gloss needs me more than ever, and nothing going on in District One could ever matter more than that.

* * *

Three days have passed since Titus died, and I've spent the past two watching Gloss as he follows Nicon across the arena, meticulously never revealing even a hint of his presence. When he first came across the man from District Four's trail shortly after the avalanche, I had thought he intended to track him down so he could confront him, but then I realised that isn't something my brother would do. He always has a deeper and more complicated plan and would never be so unsubtle. Calculating. That's what the reporters are calling it, which is music to my ears. They are all poised and waiting to see what he'll do next, and as long as he remains interesting, he remains in favour and there's considerably more chance of him remaining alive as a result.

I push a couple of buttons on my control panel and it brings a map of the arena up on the screen in front of me, showing me what I am now convinced is what's had Tiberius and Ursala whispering together for the past couple of hours. Nicon thinks he's tracking Megaera, which he was until the early hours of this morning, but now he's following a false trail, not that he realises it. The girl from District Two doubled back behind him, clearly planning an ambush of her own, and from confident look on Shay's face, I don't think he's noticed yet either.

"Look," I whisper to Falco, who still sits in the chair that was supposed to have been Fortune's. My fellow mentor hasn't made an appearance here since before Diamond died.

"He's stupid and she's badly injured," he replies, gesturing to the two red dots on the screen that represent Nicon and Megaera as they get closer and closer to each other. "Either of them could win."

I nod, refocusing on the big screen in front of me just in time to see Megaera jump down from the top of one of the rocky ledges that surround the path, catching Nicon unawares and almost managing to sink her blade into his chest. He falls down and rolls away from her, raising his own sword to meet hers with a split second to spare.

Then the screen changes to show pictures from two different cameras, one of them following the ongoing fight and the other showing Gloss as he watches intently from the shadows, waiting for his time to strike. I only wish that time would hurry up and arrive, because the longer he avoids joining the battle the more likely it is that the Gamemakers will do something to force him to get involved.

"No!"

I turn to the side in response to Ursala's frantic and desperate cry, and when I return my attention to the arena, I see Megaera almost bent double, clutching her left hand to her wound as she struggles to lift her sword with her right. Nicon charges forwards, feinting one way before bringing his fist crashing around into his opponent's stomach. She falls to the ground, still without so much as a whimper, and her pain makes her powerless to do anything to stop the man from District Four as he drives his sword through her heart.

Her cannon fires and the sound mingles with Ursala's scream, which makes Mags' reaction to Pelagia's death appear positively controlled and restrained. She pushes Tiberius away from her and sweeps her arm violently across her desk, sending everything that was on it flying to the floor before racing from the room as fast as she can go.

If the circumstances were different then I would chase after her and attempt to do or say something to ease her grief, or at the very least provide her with someone she can shout at without getting herself killed as a result, but this is the Hunger Games and three has now become two. Only one person stands between Gloss and his victory.

* * *

Gloss steps out from his place of concealment as the hovercraft that appeared to take Megaera away vanishes from sight, and he stares directly at Nicon, his head held high and his sword raised. He's planned this, I saw what he was doing all along, and though it took them a bit longer, everyone else eventually saw it too. I can see how well it's worked when I see how well-rested he looks compared to his final opponent. However that doesn't mean Nicon intends to go down without a fight, and I am abruptly reminded of how I taunted Dahlia roughly this time last year when he reverses the roles and does the same to Gloss.

"I know I'm going to beat you, District One," says Nicon as he confidently strides towards my brother. "I just killed District Two."

Gloss simply stares at him, shaking his head as if in wonderment. "Really?" he deadpans after a while. "Even if I hadn't just watched the whole thing then I'd have still known she must have been really injured."

Nicon loses his cool in a way that Dahlia never did, and I can see the anger in his eyes as he rushes towards Gloss. I'm glad to see it. Blind rage makes people do stupid things. It dulls their reactions and stops them from thinking clearly, and that is plain to see from the events on screen.

Gloss volunteered for the Games because of me. He never wanted to fight and he certainly didn't want to kill. I'd go as far as to say that if it hadn't been for mine and Sapphire's determination to escape the confines of what we thought of as our gilded prison then he'd never have even started his training back home as a child. However the fight I'm watching now shows how skilled he is when he really lets go, and he dances around Nicon like the man from the fishing district is an untrained boy. For every blow his opponent lands on him, Gloss gets three in return, and it doesn't take long for Nicon to find himself lying on his back, staring up at the sky with my brother's blade resting against his throat.

"Do it, Gloss," I hiss, leaning towards the television and willing him to hear me even though it's impossible that he could. "Gloss, you have to. Please, Gloss," I continue, but still my brother doesn't move and doesn't look away from Nicon.

"I knew it. I said this at the start," says Tiberius. "He hasn't got it in him to kill."

"He proved you wrong with Theodorus though, didn't he?" I retort, my eyes not leaving the screen. "Please, Gloss. You have no choice. Please."

It is probably only a few short seconds that pass but it feels like all eternity as I wait for Gloss to make his choice. He breathes in and out so deeply that I can see the movement of his chest from here and he finally breaks eye contact with Nicon to look briefly ahead of himself. A camera zooms in on his face instantaneously and I don't think there's a single person in Panem who doesn't hear his next words even though he quickly returns his focus to his defeated opponent.

"I'm sorry," he says, "but I made a promise and I won't break it."

He draws his blade across Nicon's throat and then sinks it into his heart, killing him virtually instantly. We both fall to our knees as the trumpets sound to signal his victory.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

It was twenty-three minutes past eleven when Nicon's cannon fired. I know that because I looked away from the television in guilty relief when he fell and my eyes went straight to the clock on the wall above the glass doors of the Control Room. Now it's well past quarter to two and I've still heard nothing.

They'll be bringing him back to the Capitol in a hovercraft. That's what happens, or so Falco told me. I wouldn't know about that because I was unconscious before they even took me away from There, before the trumpets that announced my victory even fell silent. It'll be different for Gloss though. He will be freezing cold and in pain because of a lot of relatively superficial wounds, mostly from his fight with Titus, but he will also be awake and totally aware of what's happening around him. I hate the thought of him being all alone after what he's been through. The thought of him surrounded by the Capitol people in their white coats is even worse.

I pause in front of the window, momentarily ceasing to pace around the room to stare down at the City Circle below. The reporters, camera crews and other assorted Capitolians are still there, hovering like vultures as they wait for news of their latest Victor and yet preening themselves like peacocks. I feel like throwing open the window and shouting at them all until they go away, until they leave my brother and I alone. But I can't do that and they will never leave us alone. All I can do is pace around and around the Level One dining room, waiting for the phone to ring. All they will do is watch and wait.

It doesn't take long for me to decide I can't bear to look at the crowd any longer, despising them all more completely than I ever have before, even on that final night of my Victory Tour. I shake my head to clear it but it doesn't work. Despite my utter joy and relief that Gloss will return to me, I can't fight the feeling that it won't just be me they're looking at with hungry, grasping eyes now. It will be Gloss too, and there's not one single thing I can do about it.

"You can't think like that, Cash," I tell myself out loud, my voice sounding almost deafening in the silence of the room. "He's alive and nothing else matters."

I turn away from the window to face the sideboard, almost laughing at myself but then thinking about it and realising that if talking to yourself is the first sign of madness then laughing at yourself must be a close second. I reach for the pile of papers and folders that rests in one corner of the massive piece of Capitol-made furniture, more to distract myself from my thoughts than for any other reason, but I regret it when I lose my grip on them and they all cascade to the floor with a loud bang.

I fall to my knees and attempt to gather them all together again, putting the majority of them haphazardly back on the sideboard before leaning down for the rest. That's when I notice it. A burgundy red, velvet-covered book which has golden tassels tied to either end of the spine. It looks seemingly inoffensive as it lies there on the floor, however there's no way I could consider it inoffensive when I know instantly what it is. A Hunger Games programme. One of the very expensive ones that only the very wealthiest of Capitolians buy. They usually have them to keep as a souvenir if their chosen tribute wins. I don't see why they bother when from what I've seen, most of them seem to just buy the tribute instead.

I reach gingerly towards it, deciding it must be Fortune's. Only the man who wishes more than anything that he had been born here would purchase such a thing. Part of me wants to throw it away, to get it out of my sight so I don't have to keep looking at it, but the rest of me picks it up anyway, wanting to see a Gloss who is free of the pain of the arena even if it is only in a photograph.

I almost drop it again in shock when I read the elaborate gold calligraphy set into the thick velvet of the front cover. It reads 'The Sixty-Sixth Annual Hunger Games' rather than the Sixty-seventh, which was what I'd already assumed I would see. No matter how forcefully I tell myself to put it down, there is something in me that won't let me stop. I flick through the first few pages, which I've been told always tell the story of the Games, shuddering when I see the picture of Finnick Odair wearing the Victor's crown, but then I stop when I find my former district partner staring back at me.

I've barely thought about Sheen since I left the arena. My family and his don't move in the same circles, so the only time I've seen any of them was during the ceremony which concluded my Victory Tour. For obvious reasons I wasn't really in my right mind then and I certainly wasn't paying them the attention they probably deserved. Looking at him now, I start to wonder why he acted the way he did and what happened to him to put him in the arena.

Then I promptly forget about him when I turn the page, seeing the face of a Cashmere who hadn't seen the arena, who hadn't lived through all that followed her victory. Only little over a year has passed since that photograph was taken, but to my eyes I look so very different.

I know I look exactly the same to virtually everyone else. Callista and Charis have told me so often enough. But to my eyes I look almost like a different person. I look younger and my eyes seem brighter, but maybe that's just my subconscious talking, acknowledging that the bright blue eyes in the photograph were yet to see all that I have seen since the day it was taken.

I turn the page again and immediately lower my arms so I can't see the book. I might not have thought a lot about Sheen but Corvinus's impenetrable dark eyes have haunted my dreams since the day he died, and even seeing a picture of him brings so many memories flooding back.

I finally drop the programme to the floor, resuming my pacing around the room as I glare once more at the stubbornly silent phone. Then I notice the book has landed open and that it's Dahlia's face staring back at me. I stop again.

It's the photograph they used when they televised the training scores, the one taken on the day of the reaping. As I stare down at her sharply intelligent black eyes, which are partially obscured by her hair like they always were, my hand involuntarily moves to rest over the place she drove her knife inside me. Even as I move, I realise that I don't hate her. When I look at her I remember the fierce hatred Tiberius feels for me because she's gone. I remember how determined she was, how strong and fearless, and I feel more grief and sadness for her than I ever felt for Sheen.

Then the phone rings, startling me before I abruptly realise what it is and sprint across the room as fast as my legs will carry me.

"He's back," says Falco. "But nobody's allowed near the place other than the medical team."

"We'll see about that," I reply, taking a deep breath and straightening my back without putting the receiver down. Gloss is my brother and not even the Capitol can keep me from him.

I drop the receiver instead of placing it down properly and race out of the room, down the corridor and to the lift. I quickly find there is no obvious way to make it go any lower than the gymnasium level so I press that button, wondering how Falco managed it last year when he came to rescue me from the very place I'm now trying to get to.

The lift doors slide open onto the corridor that leads to and from the gymnasium, and I see a staircase directly opposite me. When I get downstairs I find myself surrounded by a mass of white-coated people in the close confines of an even narrower corridor and I almost turn and go back the way I came. It immediately makes me think of There, and it takes me a few minutes to collect my thoughts and control my racing emotions as the walls seem to close in on me. By the time I manage it, they've already seen me.

"You can't be here," says the nearest White Coat. "Nobody's supposed to even know he's back yet."

His companion laughs. "Don't you know who her district's Capitol escort is? Mr Hazelwell always knows."

"Be that as it may, you can't stay here, Miss de Montfort. Come back tomorrow," says the first man, who I recognise as being the one who tried to stop Falco from taking me from my hospital room last year.

As I glare at him, he shudders as if he remembers how powerless he was that day. I get the impression he's someone who likes to be in control, but I feel little remorse as I narrow my eyes at him, hoping I can get the better of him because the only alternative is to do as he says and go at least another day without seeing my brother.

"You've got no chance," I retort, far too intent on seeing Gloss to remember my manners, even in a place like the Capitol. "He's my brother. Let me see him. Right now."

All of the people in the corridor stare at me, some in shock, some in fear, and others in apparent disgust that a mere district girl thinks she can come here and address them like I just did.

"Gloss!" I call, but I get no answer. "Gloss!"

I race down the corridor, jerking my arm away from the man who reaches for me, still shouting for my brother. Eventually I notice there is only one closed door and that it has a white-uniformed Peacekeeper standing before it. I instantly recognise him as the young man with the look of District Two who found me outside the Control Room before Gloss even left the Capitol. He's pretending to focus straight ahead of himself but I can see his eyes following me.

"Let me in."

"Miss de Montfort, I can't."

"You can. Let me in and I won't cause a scene. What's it to any of you if you let me see him? It doesn't make a difference to you."

He looks long and hard at me, saying nothing for several minutes. I notice that the White Coats seem to be leaving the decision to him so I ignore them for now, not wanting to attract their attention any more than I already have.

"Are you sure it's wise?" says the Peacekeeper eventually. "He's been in the arena for a long time and he's only just come back. Don't you think you should give him some time to recover so he's more himself when you see him?"

"He's my brother," I reply, my mind going into overdrive even as I try not to think about how bad he must be for this man to say such a thing. "I want to see him."

"As you wish."

The man steps aside after unlocking the door and pushing it so it swings slowly open. I expect Gloss to be at the door to meet me, thinking there's no way he couldn't have heard me calling for him, and my heart sinks when he's not there. I step tentatively inside the clinical white room, remembering how frightening it is to see a place like that when you're used to the cold darkness of the arena. Then I think how Gloss will fear the lack of colour for a different reason.

I look across at the bed, thinking he must be too weak to stand or that he's resting, but he isn't there. Only when I look the other way do I see him, curled up on the floor in the corner of the room with his knees tucked up to his chest, shaking as if he's still out in the cold.

"Gloss?" He doesn't look up. "Gloss, it's me. It's Cashmere. Gloss, look at me," I continue, somehow hearing my tears in my voice. "Gloss, please."

"He's been like this since he came off the hovercraft an hour and a half ago," says the white-coated man who stopped me at the door.

"Leave us," I tell him firmly, trying to do that thing Falco does with his voice that makes everyone do as he says.

The man steps towards the door and for a short time I think it's worked, however the next second his eyes meet mine and he shakes his head.

"He's not himself," he says, being remarkably diplomatic for a Capitolian speaking to a district girl, who will always be less than him in this place where being a Victor means nothing good. "He might be a danger to you."

I laugh, unable to help myself when I realise the man probably wouldn't care if I did get hurt for any reason other than how much trouble he'd be in if any harm came to one as valuable as me.

"He's my brother," I tell him. "He won't hurt me. And we both know I'm stronger than I look. Or have you forgotten last year?"

The man nods in reluctant acceptance and leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind him. I don't miss the way his eyes drift to the camera on the wall as he goes, which I'm sure was his intention.

"Gloss? It's just me now. They've all gone. It's over."

He still doesn't respond so I cross the room and crouch down in front of him, staring into his glazed and unseeing eyes. He's still wearing his arena clothes but has lost the massive coat I sent him, and he's freezing cold and shivering. He barely resembles the proud and immaculately presented young man I know, and the only untouched thing about him seems to be my sapphire pendant, which sparkles in the too-bright hospital room lights, still around his neck despite all that's happened.

"Gloss, you won. You came back to me. You kept your promise and you didn't let me down. Gloss, I love you. Look at me. Please look at me."

I reach out and brush his hair back from his face before covering his freezing hands with my own slightly warmer ones, rubbing them and hoping that it isn't too late to restore the circulation. Just as I'm starting to despair and my legs begin to cramp underneath me because I've been crouched down for so long, his hand tightens around mine.

"Cashy? Is it really you? Or am I dreaming again? I saw you before, but you weren't real."

His voice cracks and shakes and is so quiet that it's barely audible, but when I slowly raise my head, the eyes that meet mine are clear and lucid. Tears of relief stream freely down my cheeks as I nod my head and clutch his hands as tightly as I can.

"You're not dreaming," I whisper. "You won. The arena's gone. They brought you back to me."

"Cash, I'm cold," he says, pulling his hands from mine so he can wrap his arms around me, holding me so tightly it hurts. I don't care. "I'm cold like I'll never be warm again."

"Yes, you will," I reply firmly, still crying as I cling to him as hard as he clings to me. "I won't lose you again. I'll never let you do anything so stupid ever again."

"It was my choice," he says firmly, his voice getting stronger every time he speaks. "Now they can't take you where I can't follow."

My tears start all over again and I literally can't speak. I don't know how much time passes, but when the white-coated man enters the room and is closely followed by Falco, they find Gloss and I curled up on the floor, our eyes closed against the stark whiteness of the room which brings back the same horror for both of us just in different ways.

* * *

The only way Falco could persuade me to leave the room was to tell me that the medical team wanted to make sure Gloss was physically well enough to go upstairs. I made him promise he was telling me the truth about ten times, and even when I believed him, I only let about an hour pass before barging down the corridor again with the sole intention of finding out what was taking them so long.

I expect to have to go in the white room again, and I really hate the white room because it reminds me of There, but what I see before I get to it takes my mind off that completely. I turn the last corner in the corridor and the first person I see is Gloss. He's dressed in clean, simple clothes, and despite the superficial cuts and bruises, if it wasn't for all we've been through over the past few weeks, I would find it very difficult to imagine he'd been in the arena at all.

"So as you can see," says my brother, gesturing down at himself and speaking as calmly and rationally as ever, "there's nothing wrong with me, so there's really no need for me to stay." At that moment, his eyes meet mine and he smiles as he continues. "Besides, my sister will look after me. She's a nightmare at the best of times and we've never been close, but I'm sure we'll manage."

"Gloss de Montfort, I dare you to come over here and say that," I call, fighting my suspicion that he's still acting as much as he ever was in the arena and that it's only a matter of time before the veneer cracks.

He helps me do that by laughing and walking towards me, looking almost like the Gloss I remember and nothing like the broken man I saw on my screen in the Control Room. He puts his arm around me and pushes me back the way I came, and he seems so desperate to leave this place that I say nothing and let him. I turn around to glare at the white-coated man who stares after us, hoping that will be enough to keep him from protesting.

* * *

It seems I haven't lost my touch, because we make it to the lift without incident or interruption, and I sigh with relief when the doors slide closed and we zoom straight up to Level One.

"Are you alright?" asks Gloss as we walk slowly down the corridor.

I laugh, pulling him to a halt so I can look him in the eye. "Am I alright? You're the one who just survived the Hunger Games. Don't you think it should be me asking you that?"

"I'm fine, Cash," he replies, his expression telling me how far from the truth that is. "I always am."

I say nothing more as we reach the dining room and I push him down onto the sofa. He pulls me down beside him and I let him, temporarily letting myself give in to the overwhelming happiness I feel when I allow myself to think of nothing but the fact that he won and came back to me.

"Only two," he says, breaking a silence I thought would never end. I know immediately that he means Theodorus and Nicon. "But I wish it was only one."

"What do you mean?"

"Nicon wanted to live. Just like I did. He didn't deserve to die and I see his face every time I close my eyes."

"And Theodorus?"

"Maybe I shouldn't have killed him, but I can't quite bring myself to regret it."

"Who are you to decide who deserves to live and who deserves to die, little brother?" I whisper, turning around and cupping the side of his face with my hand.

"I didn't say I could do that," he whispers back. "I only said what I feel in my heart."

Not for the first time, something about his words renders me completely unable to control my emotions, and all of the tension, stress and grief pours out of me as I throw my arms around him and cry until I can't cry any more. I've cried so much lately that I'm surprised it takes as long as it does. Gloss holds me tightly, refusing to let me go even when I finally manage to pull myself together, which tells me that I wasn't the only one who lost control.

"I missed you," I tell him. "I missed you so much. I thought you were going to die in there."

"So little faith…" he teases, and I hit him before hugging him again. "I missed you too, even if it did almost seem like I could hear your voice in my head when you sent me those parachutes."

"It was my job to keep you safe," I say, settling back once more, half leaning against the cushions and half leaning against him. "I did what I could."

"So what happens now?" he asks eventually, and we both turn to look at the clock as it strikes eight. We've been here for hours and I didn't even realise.

"You know what happens," I reply. "They make you watch it again and then they make you talk about it. Then they'll let us go home. For now."

"Perhaps they'll leave you alone now I've won. You're not the newest Victor anymore."

"Don't be naïve, Gloss," I reply. "It never ends, you know that as well as I do."

"But we're still here," he says. "Both of us."

"I love you," I tell him, "and I don't know what I'd have done if I'd lost you, but I still wish you'd never volunteered. You can't save me, Gloss, any more than you can save yourself."

Part of me hates myself for talking to him like this when he's already been through so much, especially when it comes to talking about him volunteering. After all, I volunteered and he had to watch me fight for my life in the arena, so what gives me the right to be such a hypocrite? However I can't seem to stay quiet. It has to be said and I've never been very good at keeping things back from him.

"I told you before, it doesn't matter about me."

"You matter to me, Gloss," I reply. "As much as I matter to you. Don't ever doubt it."

"I don't. But it only means something if I let it."

I stare back at him, not quite feeling able to bring myself to shatter his illusion. Maybe it _will _be different for him. Maybe he will be able to block out what he will have to do in a way that I never could.

"Anyway," he continues, "there are more important things to talk about than that. I promised I would bring you this back and I always keep my promises."

He reaches up behind him, clearly struggling to unfasten the clip on my sapphire necklace. He keeps trying but he can't do it and eventually gives up and turns around to put his back to me, silently telling me to do it for him.

"Maybe you should keep it," I tease. "The Capitol people will think it looks pretty."

"Cash," he growls warningly.

"Alright, alright," I reply quickly, reaching out and unclipping the clasp in one swift movement.

"Thank you," he says softly as I replace the necklace around my own neck, suddenly realising how much I've missed its familiar weight.

"For what?"

"For fighting for me."

"Do you seriously think you have to thank me for that?" I retort, putting my arm around him and pulling him against me when I realise I don't trust myself to say anything further.

* * *

I walk quickly into the Level One dining room, followed closely by Falco, who accompanied me on my information-finding mission. Gloss is casually lounging on the sofa, looking almost like he did before all this happened, and though I know him well enough to detect that some of it is still a front, he looks considerably more relaxed than he did when I took him from the hospital a couple of days ago.

"So when have I got to face my evil destiny then?" he asks with a very familiar smile.

"Which particular evil destiny?" I reply, laughing as I fall down onto the sofa beside him and rest my head on his shoulder. "The Victory Ceremony or the Interview?"

"Doesn't the one follow the other?" he teases, laughing when I hit him.

"Tomorrow night," says Falco. "But your style team will be here first thing in the morning."

"Good," he says, and it's when his voice has that tone that I decide the arena has affected him more than he's willing to let on while we're still in the Capitol. "It's about time they let me finish this."

I watch him as he gets up and crosses to the window so he can gaze out at the Capitol sunset, knowing that our differences aren't stopping him from doing exactly as I did. He's fighting to maintain the performance in the same way I did last year, refusing to give in to his emotions, thoughts and nightmares until the cameras finally stop rolling. I just hope that I'm able to fix him and hold him together when he finally breaks.

"I'd better get some sleep if Lucretia's coming to torture me in the morning," he says with a smile as he looks away from the window. "Will you still be here?"

"Of course," I reply. "I won't go anywhere until Lucretia evicts me."

He smiles again and leaves the room. As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, I get up and sit on the arm of Falco's chair, only allowing myself to relax when he pulls me onto his lap.

"He's stronger than you think," he says, proving that his scary ability to read my mind hasn't diminished.

"I know, but I've seen it so many times. He'll go on and on for so long but eventually he won't be able to do it anymore."

"And you'll be there for him like he was there for you," he replies immediately. "Gloss made his choice when he volunteered, just like you did."

"I know. It's just…"

"You love him so much that you would take all the pain away from him and bear it yourself if you could?" I turn slightly so I can look up into his eyes. "I know what that feels like," he continues. "Now go to bed. I don't think Lucretia would take it as well as Felix did if she found us here like this in the morning."

He tries to push me to my feet but I don't let him. "I don't care about Lucretia. I don't want to go. I want to stay here."

He sighs and stands up, giving me no choice but to do the same. I expect him to push me towards the door but he doesn't, he pulls me over to the sofa and sits down, dragging me with him.

"Do you remember what I promised you?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to need you to trust me tomorrow. You will get another…invitation, but you have to trust me and go along with it."

"I trust you, you know I do, but I don't see how you can be doing this. Are you ever going to explain anything to me properly?"

"Soon," he replies. "I promise. But not here."

I nod, understanding why the Training Centre might not be the best place to be thinking about a revolution. I shuffle around on the sofa so I can curl up against him, closing my eyes and deliberately not speaking, knowing that he won't be able to bring himself to disturb me if he thinks I'm asleep.

Some time later, when it's still dark outside, I hear the door slide open. I'm awake instantly, exactly like I had to be in the arena. Some things will take longer than a year to fade.

"Who's there?" I whisper, my voice sounding loud in the silence.

"I couldn't sleep without seeing their faces."

The other side of the sofa dips down slightly as Gloss sits beside me and after that I lie there for hours, listening as his breathing slows and he finally falls asleep. It's starting to get light outside when Falco attempts to move without waking me, not knowing that I'm already awake.

"Where are you going?" I whisper.

"I have a meeting. I'll be back before you have to leave for the ceremony so we can go together."

"It's not even dawn yet."

"Soon but not here," he says, cryptically repeating his words from last night.

I smile, reluctantly resisting the temptation to question him any further, and though I know I should probably get up, both Gloss and I remain on the sofa until I hear a quiet but persistent knocking that I can't ignore no matter how hard I try.

"Callista, what are you doing here?" I ask when I get up and open the door to find the currently red-haired member of my former prep team hovering in the corridor, looking anxiously over her shoulder.

"They'll be here in a minute, I just wanted to give you some warning," she says, the way she peers over my shoulder telling me that she really came here in the hope of seeing Gloss.

I smile slightly and am about to grant her wish when I hear the lift bell ring again, immediately followed by a high-pitched buzzing that can only be the combined voices of Gloss's prep team.

"Can you delay them?" I ask Callista. "Only for a few minutes."

She nods and retreats back down the corridor in the direction of the oncoming commotion. I dive back and close the door without hesitation, running down the corridor to the dining room.

"This is it then?" says Gloss, obviously working it out from the expression on my face.

"The sooner it starts, the sooner it finishes," I tell him. "It will be over before you know it."

"It's never over," he replies flatly, and I stare unblinkingly down at him.

He's doing it again. He's speaking in that tone of voice which tells me he's been affected by the Games more than he will ever allow himself to admit, especially while we're still in the Capitol. I'll get him to talk when we get back home, I'm sure of that, but I know my brother well enough to know that there's about as much chance of Snow stepping down from the government as there is of him opening up to me when he's here.

"The ceremony will be over," I say, struggling to keep the brightness in my voice when I hear the main door slam into the wall as the prep team nearly knock it off its hinges. "Only the interview tomorrow and then we can go home."

"Cashmere, you're still here," says Lucretia as she strolls into the room ahead of her assistants.

"Of course," I reply, still instinctively guarded when I speak to her even though her work before the arena proved she's on our side. "What are you doing here so early?"

"I've never dressed a Victor before," she says, looking appraisingly at Gloss like he's some kind of mannequin rather than a person. "I have to make sure I get it right. So if you don't mind…"

"I'm going, I'm going," I say, forcing myself to ignore the pleading look in Gloss's eyes as he silently begs me to stay a little longer. "Remember what I said," I tell him as I turn and sweep from the room before I can change my mind.

* * *

I don't really know where I'm going. I can't very well stay on Level One, as if they're anything like mine were, Gloss's style team will take over virtually the entire suite in a matter of seconds. Falco's working so I can't spend time with him, and I can't go anywhere without being mobbed by reporters anyway so leaving the Training Centre is out of the question.

However that doesn't stop me from getting into the lift and going downstairs, peering cautiously out when the doors slide open and carefully creeping away towards the back of the building. I hope all of the reporters are arguing over the best positions in the City Circle for tonight's ceremony and therefore won't be lurking anywhere else.

When I reach the glass doors that lead out onto the path to the Control Room building, I realise this is possibly the only place in the Capitol where I might be left alone. I step forwards without hesitation, intending to get some fresh air before I spend the night being suffocated by a vast excess of sickly-sweet perfume. However I get about two steps further before a familiar voice calls my name and I am pulled roughly back. I spin around to find Tiberius's dark eyes staring down at me.

"Stop pushing me around," I snap, determined not to appear weak in front of him. "I'm not Dahlia."

"No," he replies, his eyes narrowing sharply. "You're certainly not. And you of all people should know better than to think you have the right to speak her name to me."

"I'm the one just minding my own business here. You stopped me. What do you want?"

He reaches out, offering me the mass of black fabric he carries before nodding in the direction of the glass doors.

"I was going to put this over her head so nobody would be able to hear her scream death threats at me when I forced her to come back inside before she catches pneumonia, but then I saw you. She might listen to you without the exchange of death threats being necessary so you can try first."

I follow the direction of his gaze to see Ursala sitting on the floor at the foot of a tree. It might be summer but it's cool outside today and all she has on is a strapless evening dress. Her feet are bare and her long black hair is loose and blowing in the wind around her.

"Why-"

"_He _decided she might like to celebrate Meg's death by attending one last party before we return to Two," he says, and I immediately decide that if voices alone could kill then the entire population of the Capitol would have died a million deaths by now. "I found her sitting there at three in the morning and tried to make her come back inside but she wouldn't. She's been there ever since."

I hold out my hand and take the fabric, which proves to be a coat, from him without another word, walking towards the doors with what I hope is more confidence than I really feel.

"Ursala? Ursala, you'll freeze out here. Come inside."

Even when I'm standing right beside her, she doesn't acknowledge my presence. She continues to stare into the distance like she didn't hear me. I reach down and drape the coat over her shoulders before sitting down next to her, waiting to see if she will speak first. I keep waiting and waiting and still she doesn't say a word.

"What happened, Ursala? Why are you out here?"

"What do you think happened?" she retorts, her voice cracking slightly, though whether that's because she's cold or because she's upset, I couldn't say. Her face is emotionless, blank and never changing.

"I'm sorry about Megaera," I offer, hoping she doesn't push me away because Gloss lived. "She meant a lot to you, didn't she?"

Ursala nods, pulling the coat more tightly around herself. When she turns to look at me, I gasp at the vivid red wheal under her left eye.

"He spoke about Meg. He'd wanted her to win but he said such horrible things. I lost my temper. It doesn't matter that she's dead so none of them can hurt her, I didn't like it. I didn't like it so I hit him," she says bitterly. "And he didn't like that."

"I-"

"I don't care," she replies, speaking before I can finish and putting her fingertips to the wound, pressing down hard as if to prove her statement to me. It must be painful but she doesn't even wince. "After what happened to Meg, I don't care."

"I meant what I said," I repeat. "I would have done anything to get Gloss back but that doesn't mean I wanted Megaera to die."

"I know," she replies, turning towards me slightly. "You were fighting for your brother's life. How could I hold that against you?"

I don't know what to say to that so I say nothing, shuffling around so I can lean against the trunk of the tree. Ursala leans back and pushes me almost roughly to the side so she has room to do the same. I don't mind. I'd much rather any reaction than no reaction at all.

"How did she come to mean so much to you?"

"I was her mentor."

"I know that," I reply confusedly. "But I was officially Diamond's mentor and I'd barely met her before Reaping Day so that doesn't explain anything."

"You don't understand," she says. "'Mentor' doesn't mean the same thing in District Two as it does everywhere else."

"Then what does it mean?"

"You know that all the children who might become tributes are trained together in Two?"

"Yes. At the Training Centre," I reply dryly, looking slowly and deliberately at the Capitol building of the same name.

"Megaera came to the District Two Training Centre when she was twelve. They kick them out of the Community Home at twelve, you see," she explains. "Then they have to fend for themselves. She trained with the group like all the youngsters do and I picked her out. After that she spent most of her time training with me."

"You picked her out? Like Enobaria and Tiberius did with Dahlia?"

Ursala laughs. "A bit like Enobaria, I suppose. You couldn't say Meg and I were ever like Tiberius and Dahlia."

"I didn't mean it like that," I reply, playfully pushing her before I remember who she is and where we are.

She smiles and shrugs her shoulders. "It's impossible to work so closely with someone else like that and not get to know them and to feel something for them. I used to leave Velia with Meg when I had to come here. She used to try to teach her how to throw knives, but you probably noticed she never was very good at that. I teased her that Velia was teaching her."

I try not to look too horrified by the prospect of a child of five or six learning to throw knives because I know enough about District Two to know the concept isn't going to be at all unusual or shocking to Ursala. Dahlia must have started to learn almost before she could walk to get as good as she was so I don't know why even I'm surprised. However that doesn't remove the image I have of a little girl version of Ursala welcoming her mother home by attempting to demonstrate how she can throw two knives and hit the same target twice.

"I don't understand how you can do it. You obviously loved her, and yet you let her volunteer for the arena."

"Says the girl who was part of a pact with her brother and foster-sister to win three consecutive Games," she replies, narrowing her eyes at me and deliberately avoiding giving me a straight answer.

"That was different. And if Sapphire had won the Games then I don't think for a second that I'd have found my way to the Capitol. She'd have suffered our fate way before the next reaping and I know she'd have killed me herself before she let me walk into the same trap."

"I don't know how to explain it to you," she says with a deep sigh. "You don't come from District Two so you won't understand. The Games are part of our culture. If you're poor and have nothing then training for the Games gives you the chance to escape your fate. Even failed trainees usually end up in the Peacekeepers rather than working in the quarries or something worse, and you never know the truth about the reality of being a Victor until it's too late. All the Community Home and street children of District Two see is the glory of victory and the respect you get back home if you win."

"Megaera could have trained without becoming a tribute. That's what Astraea did."

"Astraea had Corvinus. They had their own plans until…well, until last year. Megaera had only the Training Centre and everything that comes with it."

"She had you."

"And the stupid girl won the reaping trials because she didn't want to let me down. Vilani flattened her last year when she tried to win the trials a year early and she thought I was ashamed of her because of it. She put herself in the hospital wing winning the thing this year and when I went to see her, the first thing she did was smile and say that she told me she wouldn't let me down again. Now look what it got her. A hovercraft ride back home in a wooden coffin and an unceremonious burning in the Arena."

"The Arena?" I ask, confused by her words once again.

"It doesn't matter," she says quickly, pushing herself stiffly to her feet so she can look down at me. "You should be going. You've got a victory to celebrate."

"What about you?"

"I've got to be there too. Forgive me if I say I don't want to go."

"Tiberius was here," I tell her, changing the subject. "He gave me that to give to you," I continue, pointing to the coat she still has wrapped tightly around her shivering body.

"For someone who cares for nobody, he does a good job of pretending to care for me," she says. "But don't tell him I said that," she adds quickly.

"I think he was quite impressed by the damage you did to the Control Room," I say cautiously, unsure if teasing her that way might be pushing it too far.

She reaches down and pulls me up with surprising strength, smiling slightly to compensate for her tone of voice when she continues.

"I doubt that," she says. "Lives were lost when you killed Vilani, and that isn't a figure of speech."

I look sharply at her, expecting to see enough humour in her dark eyes to convince me she's teasing. However her expression is deadly serious and I abruptly realise she isn't joking.

"I-"

"Cashmere! Cashmere, there you are! Don't you realise your brother's Victory Ceremony is in a matter of hours? We should have started getting you ready ages ago!"

I exchange glances with Ursala after we both stop staring at Charis as she races down the path as fast as she can in her high heeled shoes. As I watch her all I can think of is Gloss's Victory Ceremony and I'm dreading it for so many reasons. Because my brother will have to relive the Games just like I did and I know how painful that is. Because I will have to go onto the stage with him. Because we will have to stand there together while they stare at us, while President Snow works out how he's going to manipulate us to his maximum advantage. Though of course that's assuming he hasn't done that already, which he probably has.

"I don't think your former style team wants to let you go, Cashmere," says Ursala dryly, dragging my attention back to her. "Every time I go anywhere with you, one of them always appears to take you away."

"This is important to them. They aren't so bad really," I tell her, no longer surprised to hear myself sticking up for my prep team, who are very loyal to me in their way and have become something like friends.

"What are you doing out here in the cold?" asks Charis ingenuously as she skids to a halt in front of us, clutching my arm so she doesn't topple over. "Why aren't you with Gloss?"

"I was evicted by Hurricane Lucretia," I reply with a smile. "Ursala and I retreated out here."

Charis stares at Ursala, looking very much torn between emotions. I laugh at how she is clearly unable to decide whether to be terrified in the face of the District Two Victor's potentially lethal combination of barely concealed grief and anger or concerned by her total state of disarray and lack of shoes.

"You'll be late for Gloss's ceremony if you don't come with me now," she says, choosing not to risk speaking to Ursala at all. "He'll want you to be with him."

I nod and follow her back towards the Training Centre, turning to Ursala just before I'm too far away for her to hear me when I realise she isn't behind me.

"This time tomorrow you'll be back home. She needs you to be strong for her. Come inside."

I mean Velia and I can tell immediately that she knows it. She ducks her head briefly before pulling Tiberius's coat around herself once more and following after me.

"Do you think she watched Meg die?" she asks as we walk back to the lifts, speaking quietly so Charis can't hear.

"Probably," I reply, not seeing the point in trying to lie to her when she already knows the truth. "And that's why she'll need you."

She nods, taking a deep breath and visibly straightening her back. "Sometimes I get tired of fighting, but I think I can do it for her."

"I know you can," I reply, tugging the sleeve of her coat before following Charis out of the lift.

We only get a few strides down the corridor before I see the servant man standing there in his white tunic. He immediately walks to meet us and bows slightly to me. My lip curls in disgust at the gesture, which I'd only consider respectful if I thought for one second that anyone truly respects me here. I don't. I'm a Victor and I know my place.

"Will you accompany me back downstairs, Miss de Montfort?" he asks, phrasing his words like a question even though I don't have to hear the rest of his sentence to know that in reality I have no choice. I'd been half expecting this. I knew it was coming. "President Snow wishes to see you."

My mind goes blank and everything starts spinning. It must show because Charis's immediate reaction is to grasp my arm as if she's trying to anchor me in place. I cling to her for a second, ignoring her when she asks me what's wrong because I know she wouldn't understand if I tried to explain.

"This way," says the servant, gesturing behind me to the lift.

I reluctantly tear myself away from Charis, telling her I won't be long and reassuring her that there will still be time for her to prepare me for tonight's ceremony. Part of me can't believe I'm the one who's comforting her. Not when I'm going to the place where every nightmare I have that doesn't take me back to the arena always begins.

"Tell Gloss I'll be back soon," I say, calling to her just as the lift doors begin to close. "But don't tell him where I've gone, Charis. Please, promise me!"

I don't know if she answers me or not because it's too late and the lift is already taking me down. It doesn't really matter. I just told Ursala that she has to be strong for Velia and I know that I have to be just as strong for Gloss. He's just survived the arena. Like me, he looks whole but he isn't. And that means I have to do whatever it takes to keep the Capitol from him tonight. He's my brother, and like I said in my interview, I'll do anything. To keep Gloss safe I'll do anything. That's the only thing that is keeping me walking forwards.

* * *

**Only a few more chapters left of this one... I'm not sure exactly how many yet ;) **

**Thank you to my reviewers from last time, especially Rosemarie because I can't reply to her by PM. If everyone who read the last chapter commented then I'd have well over 300 reviews by now. I know that's not going to happen but if you have time after reading the increasingly long chapters then do speak to me - I've had a rubbish week and your reviews really cheer me up :) **


	18. Chapter 18

**_Because I never thought the rebellion began with Katniss..._**

Chapter Eighteen

"It's wonderful news that your brother has recovered so quickly. I'm pleased to hear it. Very pleased indeed."

That is the only part of my most recent conversation with President Snow I remember, and he let the implied meaning of his words hang in the air between us for so long that they linger still, clouding my mind so I can think of little else.

He'd called me to his office because of Gloss's victory, I have no doubt about that. He wanted to remind me that though it's no longer viable for him to force my cooperation through my brother, who is now equally as valuable to him as I, there are plenty of others he would make suffer if I don't continue to do as I'm told. What the president doesn't realise is that I stopped listening when I heard him imply Gloss will suffer my fate before he even leaves the Capitol. I wonder if he'd be disappointed to know all that subtle intimidation was wasted?

The door to the bedroom swings open and I step forwards instinctively. Drusilla pokes me as viciously as she ever did when I was a tribute girl, annoyed that I moved when she was just about to apply one final layer of lip gloss, but I barely feel it. I only have eyes for Charis.

"He's back," she says with a smile. "What do you want him for that's so urgent?"

"Where is he?"

"He's next door talking to your brother. But you haven't answered- Cashmere!"

I feel vaguely guilty as I leave all three of them standing there staring blankly after me but that doesn't last for long. I've been waiting for Falco to return for hours. He's the only one who might be able to find out if President Snow has plans for Gloss and I can't rest until I know. I'm powerless to do anything either way, I know that, but that doesn't stop me from needing to know.

I push the door open to find Gloss's style team all staring at me like startled rabbits. One of the women even drops the bottles she was carrying and raises her hands to her mouth with a level of drama that tells me dressing tributes wasn't her first choice of career. I roll my eyes at her and scan the room for Falco, finding him standing next to the chair my brother sits upon, both of them dressed to perfection and looking completely ready to go downstairs, on the outside at least.

Falco smiles when he sees me, the amused look in his eyes confusing me until my brother turns to face my direction as well and promptly bursts out laughing in an incredibly un-Gloss-like way.

"For the love of Panem, Cash, don't you think I've been through enough without you adding to it?" he exclaims teasingly, reaching to the table beside him and throwing me the robe that lies on top of it.

I catch it easily and only then do I remember leaving my prep team wearing only the silk slip that's supposed to go underneath the dress they hadn't got around to putting on me yet.

"Falco, can I ask you something?" I say, rolling my eyes but otherwise ignoring Gloss as I suddenly remember why I'm here.

He nods and crosses the room to stand beside me but I make him follow me into the corridor before I look up at him, not needing to speak.

"No," he says simply. "Not tonight. Not yet."

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding and fight the urge to stop keeping myself upright and simply lean against him instead. He gazes back at me but says nothing, making me long to be out of the Capitol spotlight more than ever. I can never say what I feel here, I always have to watch my words and my actions. Here it feels like there is someone watching me every minute of every day, and the worst thing is that there probably is.

"Does Gloss know about me?" I ask, referring to how my brother might be temporarily off limits to the predators of the Capitol but I'm certainly not. Not officially anyway.

"No. Well, he hasn't heard it from me. Hasn't he guessed?"

"I don't think so," I reply, surprised I can give him that answer, which is one that tells me my brother still isn't who he was before the arena, however hard he pretends to be. "I'm not going to tell him unless I have to. He's got enough to deal with tonight."

"Remember what I told you."

"I do," I say, and the fact I can discuss this calmly and rationally tells me I have not only remembered what he told me but also that I have subconsciously started to believe he can keep me safe without even realising it. I don't know if that's good or not.

"Good," he replies with a smile as he looks at his watch. "As much as I would like you to stay like that, we've got to be behind the stage in fifteen minutes. Go and put poor Drusilla out of her misery and let her put your dress on."

I quickly do as I'm told, though it's more because the aforementioned Drusilla leans out of the bedroom and threatens to send me out onto the stage as I am if I don't than because Falco says so. I try to maintain my dignity as I walk down the corridor towards her in my flimsy silk slip, mentally telling her that I'm not a disobedient, errant child, that I'm a daughter of District One and a Hunger Games Victor. The former now means more to me than the latter ever could.

She lowers the dress over my head as soon as I get close enough, muttering about the consequences of lateness at important ceremonies, and she barely gives me time to look at my reflection in the mirror before pushing me back out into the corridor.

"I sense this isn't an accident," says Gloss with a smile as he watches me walk towards him a few minutes later. "We should both be grateful they didn't want to take their theme further."

The dress I wear is black, which I thought unusual at the time because they've always dressed me in colour before, but when I see my brother I understand why. His suit is pure white apart from the black jewels on the collar and cuffs of his jacket. My dress is black apart from the diamonds on the collar and cuffs of the sleeves. Lucretia and Felix have worked together to make us coordinate, mirror images in opposing colours, Gloss's dark hair and eyes against the white of his clothes and my blonde hair and blue eyes against black.

"We might start a new trend," I say dryly, linking my arm through his and starting to walk towards the door. "The Capitol will be full of coordinated siblings before we know it."

"I'm glad you're here with me," he says, abruptly a lot more serious than I am. "It must have been horrible for you to go through all this on your own."

"I wasn't entirely alone," I reply, smiling coyly at Falco as he stands back to let me go into the lift first.

"I don't want to see it again. I just want to forget it ever happened," continues Gloss, pulling my attention straight to him once more.

"I know," I say, "I know that. But you have to get through it. Just keep thinking that this time tomorrow we'll be getting ready to get on the train and go home."

"Let the Games begin," he says as the lift bell rings and the doors slide open.

He sounds far too cynical to be my little brother, and that makes me grip his arm even tighter. Hearing him speak like that makes me wish he hadn't grown so tall, that we were children still so I could stand in front of him and he could hide behind me. Then I wouldn't have to see them all staring at him.

* * *

The Victory Ceremony went as well as could be expected. Gloss sat at centre stage and watched as the Games played out before him, staring at the screen as the Gamemakers focused on the way he killed Theodorus and the cunning way he tracked Nicon just before the end. I looked as well but I tried not to really see. That person on the screen wasn't Gloss, not the Gloss I know and love, and I'd much rather see the man on the stage than what the arena made him temporarily become.

Just like last year, as soon as the ceremony was over, the banquet at the president's mansion began, and that's where we find ourselves now, standing at the entrance to the palatial ballroom while the other guests swirl around us in an endless sea of brightness.

"Now what?" asks Gloss, making me smile my genuine smile for the first time tonight because his words remind me so sharply of what he used to say at Father's parties back home.

"We wait," I reply. "Everyone in the Capitol knows us. It won't take long. I'll see you on the other side," I add, the familiar phrase I've spoken so many times before telling him now is when we have to tighten the ties on the masks we present to the world.

The first person to approach us is Narissa, and like everyone else in the room I can't help but stare at her as she glides over. Her outfit is made of a fine sparkling mesh, which catches the light as she moves so her whole body shines. As she gets closer I see the dress has wide diagonal bands of diamonds across it that just about maintain her modesty to the point where I can begrudgingly call her decent. But only just.

She looks good and she knows it, I can tell by the way she stares up at Gloss through her perfect black eyelashes, and the part of me that doesn't hate her for looking at my brother like he's a horse being paraded around the paddock before a race actually admires her for that. After all, I'd have willingly worn the dress myself before my Victory Tour even though I don't think I would now. If I wore it now then I know I'd just feel like I was helping the president out by doing his advertising for him, and that would never do.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" she asks Falco, smiling at me with mock sweetness before turning her attention to Gloss.

Falco sighs exaggeratedly in response. "Since when have you waited for introductions, 'Rissa?" he replies, speaking with a sternness I can tell isn't completely genuine. He's most likely known this woman for longer than I've been alive and the strength of their friendship has always been obvious.

"Don't be like that, Falco," she says smoothly. "Whatever will Mr de Montfort think of me?"

"I'm sure we all know the truth," I reply, speaking as scathingly as I dare as I remember her words at our last meeting, not trusting that she won't be at the front of the queue to pay Snow for my brother's favour when the inevitable happens.

"You know nothing. You think you do but you don't. What could someone like you possibly know about the likes of me?" she says with mock lightness, stepping towards Gloss and trailing her finger lightly across his chest before spinning on her heel and disappearing into the ever-swelling crowd.

I turn to look at Gloss and inwardly groan when I see him staring after her. I had been expecting some kind of whispered comment about how much he doesn't want to be here, but I can immediately see from the expression on his face that I'm not going to get it any time soon. He might be my beloved little brother but he's as capable of having his head turned by beauty as the next person, and we went to enough parties together in District One for me to know Narissa is the type to hold his attention. He won't actually _like _her, because he despises the Capitolian society she is the epitome of, but she will fascinate him enough to draw him to her. I despise her for it.

* * *

I've barely seen Gloss since we arrived, and though I try to protect him from the worst, I remember enough about the banquet that followed my own Victory Ceremony to know there is only so much I can do. He won't be allowed space to breathe until the reporters, sponsors and other assorted Capitol 'somebodies' have tired of him, and that could take many hours. Judging by the way Gloss looks tonight and their reaction to him, he will be lucky if he escapes before dawn. Seeing them fawn over him like they are almost makes me wish Finnick Odair was here. At least he'd provide them with an added distraction.

"We should leave now. While your brother is too preoccupied to notice."

I jump in response to the deep voice behind me and I spin around instantly. The man I'm looking at seems to be in his late-fifties, and he is vaguely familiar but I can't think why. Though I wouldn't call him fat in the same way I did Plutarch Heavensbee the Gamemaker, he definitely looks like he's spent every last one of his years living the high life in the Capitol. He stares at me with eyes as black as Falco's, and for a brief few seconds I'm unable to speak.

"Leave?" I retort defensively, finally getting my words out and continuing by asking my next question despite suspecting that I already know the answer. "Why would I leave with you?"

He reaches into his jacket pocket and just as I knew he would, he withdraws a single, flawless white rose.

"Then it seems I have no choice," I reply, as determined to keep my voice flat and emotionless as I am to not allow myself to look for Falco.

He promised me he'd keep me safe, and I did believe he would try. I'm sure he has tried, harder than I will ever know. I love him for that, but at the same time I still suspect this is one of the times I am wiser to reality than he is. Falco is a powerful and influential man, I have never doubted that, but not even he can compete with President Snow.

"You always have a choice, Miss de Montfort."

"No," I reply flatly. "_You_ always have a choice. My reality is very different, but I think you know that already."

"Perhaps," he says, deliberately and exaggeratedly extending his hand towards me.

The first thing I notice as I look slowly from his hand to his face and back to his hand again is the way his skin seems to shine in the artificial light of the Banquet Hall. He's dark, dark like most of the people of District Eleven even if that is where the similarities most definitely end. But then I notice the ring he wears and my eyes flash back to his. I've seen that ring countless times before on another hand and I've felt the thick gold trail across my skin almost as many. I'd recognise it anywhere.

"Why-"

"Come this way," he interrupts. "I don't think our mutual friend would thank us if we caused a scene."

This time I nod and follow the man willingly from the room, pausing only for one final look back at Gloss. He's still talking to Narissa, and though the mere sight of the woman makes my blood boil, I'm not oblivious to the fact that her presence seems to be keeping lesser mortals at a safe distance from him so I suppose I should be grateful for that.

"Who are you?" I ask as soon as I've climbed into a black car that looks very much like Falco's and my companion has closed the door behind me.

"My name is Vespasian," he says. "I work with…your Capitol escort," he continues, his tone of voice telling me he knows the truth about Falco and I without him having to say so directly.

"I've seen you on the television and Falco talks about you sometimes. You're a government minister, aren't you?"

"Yes," he says. "And I was curious to meet you. I spent a lot of time in District One in my younger years," he adds by way of explanation. "I still have an interest in what goes on there."

"So you know all about the workshops and the contracts?" I ask, sitting around to face him as all thoughts of the official reason we're in this car together fly from my mind when I sense the opportunity to discover some information my father will never have access to.

"Of course," he says, looking vaguely amused.

"Then you'll know why my family is suffering."

"Was suffering," he corrects, making me sit up straighter, "I think you'll find things going rather better than they were when you left. But you wanted to know why so I'll tell you. Your rivals kept undercutting your father, even to the point where they could barely keep going themselves. They thought that if they could hold out for long enough then he'd fall before they did. And with all due respect, the de Montfort name isn't the best-liked in the district so it didn't take much to make them try."

Says the man from the hive of corruption that is the Capitol, I think to myself, despite knowing I could never say such words aloud.

"A lot of them are suffering for it now," he continues. "Your brother being in the Games has done your father many favours here."

"My father isn't typical of my family," I retort without thinking, and then I suddenly wonder what is making me jump to Satin's defence after so many years of enmity.

It doesn't take long to get to the massive house which appears to be our final destination, but Vespasian and I spend the entire time discussing the politics of District One. I am disappointed when our journey ends for reasons other than how the car drawing to a halt abruptly makes me recall the true purpose of my visit here.

* * *

Our discussion continues as Vespasian shows me into a study which is almost cosy by Capitol standards and an Avox brings us drinks. However when that same Avox comes to take our empty glasses a short time later and Vespasian responds by standing and extending his hand to me, I can't help shrinking away in fear even if it is the hand that bears Falco's ring.

He leads me upstairs to a massive bedroom in full view of his considerable number of servants and slaves, and I really start to panic. This is worse than last time. At least last time I knew what to expect. To allow myself to be lulled into a false sense of security and to have let this man toy with my emotions like this only for my nightmare to play out for a third time is much, much worse.

As soon as the door closes behind us, which seems to take all eternity and happen instantly both at the same time, Vespasian starts to laugh.

"Don't laugh at me," I snap, determined to look him in the eye and not let him see I'm afraid.

"I can't help it, Cashmere. He told me you were a good actress but I didn't know you'd be that good. You truly looked like a lamb being led to the slaughter back there."

I stare uncomprehendingly back at him as he continues to laugh, clearly unable to stop.

"You're very beautiful, Miss de Montfort, but you'd never willingly be mine. And besides, I might be getting on a little but I'm too young to suffer a convincing sudden heart attack."

Then I suddenly understand. He's laughing because Falco put him up to this. He bought me from Snow because Falco asked him to and he thinks I know that. He thinks the terror I felt as he dragged me into this room was an act, when in reality it was as genuine as the shame I'm now feeling in its place. I feel so ashamed of myself because I allowed the trust I have in Falco to be overcome by my fear, and that's what makes me finally lower my gaze to the floor.

"It's been a pleasure," says Vespasian, interrupting my thoughts as he crosses the room to a vast bookcase that stands against the far wall and pulls various books halfway off the shelves before pushing them back. "Oh, I just remembered, the rightful owner of this will want it back."

I just manage to catch what he throws across the room to me, and when I open my hand I look down to see Falco's ring, sparkling in the dim light. A loud click makes me abruptly look up, and I watch as Vespasian slowly pulls the bookcase forward to reveal a dark and narrow passageway.

"The old-fashioned ways are the best," he says with a prideful grin. "The Peacekeepers have searched this place a hundred times with all the complicated scanning devices they possess but they've never found this because the release mechanism is mechanical not technological." He hands me a torch. "Go on then. Go and get the answers you wanted."

I look suspiciously at him, but he simply nods at the dark hole in the wall.

"He's waiting for you. Butterfly," he finishes pointedly when he obviously decides I'm not convinced, and that final word makes me return his nod and step into the darkness.

I scream when he closes the door behind me because for a split second I think I'm back There. The sound seems to keep echoing around me forever.

Then a pool of light appears further down the narrow corridor in front of me and I see Falco, still dressed as he was at Gloss's Victory Ceremony but with his shirt collar undone and his tie unfastened so it hangs loosely around his neck. Seeing him like this reminds me of the last night of my Victory Tour and the one happy memory I have of that part of my life. I might have seen him every day since Gloss became a tribute but that isn't the same, and seeing him like this makes me realise how much I've missed him.

"What is going on?" I ask, switching off the torch and walking quickly towards him. "What are you doing here? And where exactly is 'here'?"

"This," he says, taking my hand and leading me into a small, windowless room which is packed so tightly with books and folders that there's barely space for us, "is Vespasian's real office."

"Hidden behind a wall in his bedroom?" I retort incredulously.

"These are the lengths people have to go to if they want to keep their private affairs private in a city like this," he says, and I laugh in response, picturing an important and dignified man like Vespasian sneaking around narrow, dark corridors like a thief in his own home.

"Do you have hidden rooms in your apartment?" I ask, making sure I don't mention his house because both of us associate it so closely with Astoria.

"Maybe one day you'll find out," he replies, his voice teasingly suggestive.

I roll my eyes at him. "Not that I'm disappointed to see you, but why are you here?"

He sits down on the only chair that will fit amidst the chaos of this confined space and pulls me onto his lap so neither of us have to stand.

"This is probably one of the safest places in the Capitol," he says. "You wanted answers to your questions so ask away while you have the chance because you might not get another one. What do you want to know? Ask me anything."

"Who runs the rebellion?" I ask immediately, abruptly completely serious and not wanting to miss the opportunity.

He laughs, pulling me closer. "You don't waste time, do you?"

"You asked me what I wanted to know."

"In that case, I should probably start at the beginning. You know the story of what the Capitol calls the 'Dark Days'?"

"Of course. I've heard it enough times at the reaping."

"Yes, but that means you've only heard what the government wants you to hear."

"You are the government," I tease, looking up at him before resting my head back on his chest.

"I am a member of a corrupt and cruel government that I sincerely hope won't last much longer," he replies, kissing me to balance out the harshness of his words. Then he sighs and continues. "After the rebel forces were defeated by those loyal to the Capitol, the districts were segregated and the Peacekeepers as you know them now were introduced to uphold the new laws and rules. Shortly after that was the first Hunger Games."

"I know that already," I say, smirking when he slaps my hand to stop me twisting one of the buttons on his shirt.

"But you don't know that not everybody in that first ruling Capitol government wanted the Games to go ahead."

I tilt my head back so I can look up into his eyes, carefully considering what he said. I've seen enough of what goes on in District One to know the way politics works. I know that if you take a group of people, make each one feel powerful and then put them in a room together then you will get as many different opinions as there are participants in the discussion. I'd never even thought to consider it before, but I suppose it's only logical that not everyone in the then newly formed Capitol government felt the same way.

"So what happened?"

"I find it quite hard to comprehend myself so I know you won't believe me, but everything was fairly democratic at the beginning. There were people who'd fought for the Capitol and its centralised form of government because they thought it was the only way to manage the limited people and resources that survived the Dark Days. It sounds overdramatic now, when we're surrounded by all this luxury, but they thought it was the only way humanity could survive."

"So what happened then?" I repeat, turning around so I can keep looking at him.

"Democracy died," he replies, and I don't think I've ever heard this new, bitter tone that I'm hearing in his voice now. "The two factions couldn't agree, and only a very short time later, a lot of those officials who supported the subjugation of the districts united and took control. They assassinated the leader of the opposition in his family home together with his wife and his sons. Justus and Pastor were thirteen and nine when they died."

I keep my eyes fixed to his because I don't know what to say. He was born here and he is who he is, so he's bound to know the truth of what happened in a way that someone of the districts like me never would, but that doesn't explain the bitterness in his voice. That doesn't explain the pain he seems to feel as he recounts the tale to me. His parents probably weren't even alive when this happened, so who made him feel this so deeply?

"Isn't that all in the past? Is it really relevant now?"

"It explains everything," he replies softly. "There wouldn't even be a dream of change if it wasn't for what happened sixty-seven years ago."

"But I don't understand."

"There was one person left alive in that house the night Leander Redsparrow and his family were murdered. His sister, Achillea. Very few people know it, but she has dedicated her life to overthrowing the government ever since."

"Redsparrow?" I repeat, knowing I should think of a more intelligent sounding response but somehow finding myself incapable of getting over that one tiny part of what he just said.

Falco nods and smiles slightly. "Yes, Butterfly. The leader of our little nascent rebellion is Narissa's eighty-six year old grandmother."

"Eighty-six?" I echo. "Shouldn't she be either relaxing in Capitolian luxury at home or getting her Avoxes to carry her around the city in a sedan chair?"

He laughs. "Woe betide you if you speak like that in front of her," he says. "Think of Mags," he continues, and I nod in response as I think of District Four's eldest living Victor. "Think of how sharp she is, how clever, how aware she is of everything going on around her." I nod again. "Multiply her by ten and you have something close to Achillea."

"If she's so determined to act then why has she got to the age she is without doing anything? It doesn't make sense."

"How does Snow keep control?" replies Falco, answering my question with a question like he does when he wants me to work something out for myself.

I think about it for a minute. "By manipulating everyone. By threatening them if they don't do as they're told and using force if that doesn't work."

He smiles. "And how is he able to do that?"

"By knowing all their weaknesses, by knowing everything about them so they have no secrets even when they think they do."

"Exactly. And so the only way to counteract that and have any hope of success is to do the same. Achillea Redsparrow has people inside virtually every government office, justice building, corporate organisation and shoe shop in the Capitol. She's gathered information and worked to coordinate her plans for years and years, knowing that it's the only way to succeed."

"But she'll probably have died of old age first."

"That's what I'm trying to say. She knows that. She doesn't care. As long as it happens one day then she doesn't care if she isn't alive to see it. She knows that if a group of people marches on the City Circle shouting 'Down with the government' then all that will happen is they'll be taken to The Vault and never seen again. By doing things her way, we will have a chance when the right time eventually comes."

"The Vault?"

He shivers and hugs me tighter. "Sometimes I forget you're not from here," he says. "The Vault is what people call the prison that's just outside the city. Because once you go in, dead or alive, you never come out."

I shiver myself then, imagining the de Montfort family vault back home that I have to visit every year on the anniversary of my grandfather's death. It's all darkness and shadows, and it's hard to explain but the air seems to thicken around it when you stand too close, almost like it's trying to suffocate you and drag you in. I couldn't bear to visit this year, not after being There.

"It's where they held the district rebels after the first uprising," he continues, before looking at me sidelong, his expression almost nervous. "Your arena was based on it, or so the Gamemaker told me."

Once I get over the shock of that particular revelation enough to be able to think coherently, it registers that he said 'Gamemaker' in the singular rather than the plural. As I remember the rotund man in the purple robes who almost walked into me outside the Control Room building, it suddenly becomes clear why.

"Heavensbee," I say. "He works for you."

"He works for the cause," he corrects. "Or maybe he will do one day when the time is right."

"And when will that be?"

"Nobody knows," he replies softly. "Not even Achillea."

"How many more children will have to die in the Games before it's the right time, Falco? How much longer will the tyranny go on for?"

"I don't know," he says, tightening his grip on me so I can't pull away. I try half-heartedly but quickly stop lying to myself and give up. I don't really want to go anywhere so what's the point of pretending I do?

"It's not right."

"At least we're doing something," he says, his voice hardening slightly. "It would be very easy to do nothing."

"Because you're Capitolian?" I snap. "Because you're not the one suffering?"

"We all suffer in different ways," he replies bleakly, somehow instantly quelling my anger before he even stops speaking.

"And you're all in on it? Vespasian? Narissa? Felix?"

"Yes, yes and no, not so much. Felix isn't stupid, he suspects something. I don't tell him even as much as I've told you. For his own safety."

"Vespasian said to give you this," I say, passing him the ring I've only just remembered, "and he said to tell you 'the fourth but not the fifth'. He said you'd understand."

"I don't, but _She_ will. Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. I'm doing it for you. And because I want to live to see the day _He _falls."

"Maybe we'll see it together."

"I'd like that. I'd like to not have to hide any more."

He says nothing but I can somehow feel him smile even though I can't see his face. After a while I begin to drift off to sleep, finally relaxing now the pressure of the Control Room is gone and it's starting to sink in that Gloss won and that I don't have to fight for him in the same way any longer.

"Falco, we should go. Or I'm going to fall asleep."

"You might as well, Butterfly," he replies amusedly. "You're not going anywhere until morning."

"Why not?" I ask, the walls of the tiny room suddenly seeming all the closer now we're talking of me not being permitted to leave.

"Because your time isn't your own tonight, is it? You can't be seen leaving this early or it will look suspicious."

"Oh," I reply. "I didn't think of it like that."

"Good. It means you're finally getting used to the idea that I won't let anyone hurt you again."

"But what about Gloss?" I ask, settling back against him.

"I wouldn't worry. Nothing will happen to him."

"How do you know that?"

"Nobody who knows me would harm him because you love him and I love you so there would always be consequences if they did and they know it. And because he's so valuable to our esteemed leader that anyone who tried anything would barely live long enough to regret it. I think that's all sides covered, don't you?"

* * *

It's just past dawn when I creep down the main staircase, and I struggle not to walk into things as I cross the unfamiliar entrance hall towards the door, trying to remain silent so I don't disturb anyone or draw attention to myself. My hand has just touched the elaborate gold handle when the sound of someone clearing his throat makes me let go and spin around, poised to attack or flee, depending on who I face. I am a Hunger Games Victor. I have survived the arena. I'm never going to change.

"Sneaking out without saying goodbye, Miss de Montfort? I thought the daughters of District One had better manners than that."

My eyes narrow as I attempt to focus on the owner of the voice in the almost-darkness. It's more because of his words that I know I'm speaking to Vespasian than because I can see him clearly.

"I thought everyone would be asleep. I have to get back to the Training Centre."

"Will you be able to get there on your own?" he asks, which I take to mean 'Is Falco still here?'.

"Yes," I reply, confirming that I am alone and that Falco suffered the indignity of leaving via the servant's entrance about an hour ago, which is apparently what they'd planned all along.

"Perhaps we will meet again," he says, rising to his feet and opening the door for me.

"On the same terms, it would be a pleasure," I reply, inclining my head as I step out into the cool morning air before saying what I didn't want to risk saying in the house. "You could clear your office out a bit though. You can barely move in there and there are piles of papers blocking the lights."

His eyes widen slightly but he doesn't seem too upset that I'd speak to him so impertinently. I didn't think he would be and I'm pleased I haven't lost the ability to read people that I've always relied upon so heavily.

"This is my home, Miss de Montfort," he replies, clearly struggling not to laugh. "It isn't a secret hideaway for you and Hazelwell."

"We couldn't change your mind about that…?"

"Just go," he orders. "Now."

"Thank you," I say, this time speaking with complete sincerity.

He smiles but says nothing, watching me until I reach the end of the garden path before closing the door firmly and leaving me to the silence of the very wealthiest neighbourhood in the Capitol. I say silence because it is truly quiet. Nobody seems to get up early here, so much so that not even the servants are up and about yet. I begin to feel like I could be the only person in the city until I open the gate and step out onto the pavement.

Then I see several young men and women slowly and drunkenly making their way home, leaning on each other for support as they stumble down the street. I want nothing more than to hide until they've all gone, but I promised Falco that I wouldn't. I promised him I'd let people see me.

"Look!" calls one young man to his friend as I walk quickly towards him, pulling my cardigan further onto my shoulders, making it look like it was out of place when it wasn't. "That's Cashmere de Montfort."

"Seraphinus, you're drunk," replies the friend, peering intently at me all the same. "What would she be doing here at this time in the morning?"

"I don't know, but look," insists Seraphinus. "You're Cashmere, aren't you?" he continues, speaking to me as I step into the road to avoid him.

I say nothing but I turn back, making sure he sees my face clearly before I hurry away, satisfied that I did what I needed to do. News travels as fast here in the Capitol as it does back in District One, and that means I know it will be all over the city that I was seen leaving an area where only the wealthiest of families live by the time the reporters send the second edition of today's newspapers to print. Most importantly that means the president will hear about it and he will think I spent the night with Vespasian. He will believe I did what I had to and he will be none the wiser that I didn't.

* * *

Despite the earliness of the hour, there are still reporters gathered outside the Training Centre when I get there about twenty minutes later. I make sure they see me but I don't stop for questions or photos, hurrying to the lifts so I can get back to Level One.

I open the main door at the end of the corridor and I see Gloss before I've even closed it behind me. He's still wearing the suit he wore to the ceremony and he obviously hasn't been to bed. He's no longer wearing his tie and the top few buttons of his shirt are unfastened, but other than that he is virtually as he was when I saw him last. He has what looks like lipstick on his collar but I can tell from his eyes that it means nothing, that they looked but they didn't touch. He strides almost angrily towards me but I still feel a weight lift off my shoulders that I didn't realise I'd been carrying until it vanished.

"Where have you been?" he asks, stopping directly in front of me and pushing my hair back from my face so I have to look at him.

"Out," I reply, backing him into the dining room because it's the only place I know I can talk slightly more freely.

"Out where?"

"Just out," I repeat, already certain that if he discovers what I was told tonight then he won't learn it from me. I have to keep him safe, and if that means keeping more secrets then so be it.

"Cash, did…?" he starts, struggling to put into words what he's thinking. "Falco told me it wouldn't happen again. He promised me."

I stare at him for a few seconds, shocked to realise he thinks my acting skills are that good, that he thinks I might be able to hide something like that if what he's suspecting was the truth of what happened. Then I remember that he didn't see me before I'd had time to gather my thoughts and plaster my mask back on when it happened before. It was only Falco who saw me truly fall apart last time.

"It didn't," I breathe, standing on my tiptoes so I can whisper into his ear. "I was with Falco, but I couldn't tell you that or come back any sooner because then…well, you know what I mean."

He nods, realising I don't even dare speak words that will confirm I'm not as under President Snow's control as he thinks I am.

"Where did you go?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

"What did Falco say to you?"

"I don't think that's any of your business, little brother," I tease, rolling my eyes at him and hoping he won't question me any further until I've got all I've found out straight in my own head and I'm confident I won't let something slip by accident.

"In that case I don't want to know," he replies just as teasingly as he flops down onto the sofa and looks at his watch. "We can go home soon," he continues, his voice suddenly changing to one full of longing and desperation.

"I'm sorry I had to leave you last night," I offer, knowing his emotion is really because of what happened in the arena but that he isn't ready or in the right place to talk about that yet.

"I'm glad you did," he replies immediately. "I can't stand the way they look at you. It's like they want to eat you alive and I can't bear it."

"What time did they finally let you leave?" I ask, changing the subject to one which is slightly easier for both of us.

"They didn't let me leave," he says, suddenly looking down at his hands. "Narissa smuggled me out through the back door about three hours ago. And brought me straight back here," he adds, probably because I instinctively hiss in response.

"Why? Have you thought about that? This is the Capitol, Gloss, but in many ways the only difference to being back home is that the stakes are higher. Nobody does anyone a favour unless they want one in return."

"So what if she does?" he replies, still with no real anger in his voice. "I couldn't stay there, Cash. I just couldn't. I couldn't bear it for another second."

I shrug my shoulders and sit down beside him, secretly promising to somehow make Narissa Redsparrow realise she can't play games with my brother without ending up regretting it.

"How many more hours until the train leaves?"

I go to look at my watch before remembering that I didn't put it on last night. "I don't know. Not many."

"Good," he says. "I want to go home."

"So do I," I reply, as desperate to leave as he is.

There are six months until his Victory Tour begins, and the sooner we leave this place, the sooner the Capitol will start to forget about us. Then maybe we can have a few months of peace before it all begins again. There's nothing I want more.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen 

"I think it's about time Sleeping Beauty woke up," whispers Falco softly, crossing the train carriage to place his hands lightly on my shoulders, peering down at Gloss as he lies asleep with his head cushioned on a pillow on my lap. "We're nearly there."

I nod, also looking down at Gloss. I expected him to finally abandon the pretence that he has dealt with what happened in the arena as soon as we left the Capitol. I expected rage and grief, tears and broken furniture, but I got none of that. I should have known better. My brother is much too subtle for that. All I got once we eventually boarded the train home was a sad smile as he shuffled into the position he's still in now, closed his eyes and fell asleep, too exhausted to do anything else now he can just about allow himself to relax. The memory of that smile makes me wish for broken furniture.

"How nearly there? He needs to rest."

"It's alright, Cash," says Gloss, sitting up. I miss his weight and shiver with cold. "I'm awake anyway," he continues. "Are we home yet?"

He leans forward and stares out of the window so I do the same. The first thing I see is the derelict ruins of the long disused buildings which litter the outskirts of District One. It seems we're very nearly there.

"Yes," I reply, trying to sound bright and upbeat for his benefit, wondering what happened to suddenly make me feel so responsible. "Are you ready to face the mob?"

He stands up and squares his shoulders, looking like the Gloss I remember from before the Games in the simple white shirt and black trousers that Lucretia had put him in as they said their temporary farewells earlier this morning. I smile and take the hand Falco offers me, letting him pull me to my feet and hold me against him briefly before he pushes me away to a safer distance and crosses to the cabin door.

"I'm more worried about Father," says Gloss quietly. "He's going to be so disappointed I won. Imagine how much he'll lose out now he can't play the sympathy card with the Capitolians because his son didn't do the decent thing and die in the Games?"

"Don't talk like that, Gloss," I reply firmly, ignoring how I know he's right. "I wouldn't worry about him. What he thinks makes no difference to us now."

"Satin did the interviews when I was in the arena, didn't she? She tried to help me." I nod. "Then we shouldn't abandon her."

"Abandon her?" I retort laughingly. "She's hardly a damsel in distress. She makes Ursala Barbieri look defenceless and if she had a fight with Silvestri then I'd be tempted to bet on Satin."

Gloss laughs, finding my comment all the funnier since he met the two Victors from District Two at last night's banquet.

"She's still one of us, Cash. She wears a mask and performs for her audience just like we perform for ours but she's still our sister."

"Butterfly, put that on," interrupts Falco, throwing my suit jacket to me. "We're here."

I do as he says as I feel the train slow down, gazing out at the lines of people who fill the platform as we finally grind to a halt. Everything is a noisy blur of colours and faces as Gloss and I gradually make our way out of the station, walking hand-in-hand with Falco striding ahead of us trying to clear the way.

The select number of reporters permitted to stand where they will be able to see Gloss's reunion with his family start to call out questions to us as we get close enough to see the circle of Peacekeepers who are there to separate those who are waiting to welcome us home from the rest of the crowd. There are less of them than I remember there being last year, and I decide it's probably because they realise the rest of our family don't like us enough for there to be much of a show. Last year they were waiting for Gloss and I to be reunited and there's no need for that this time.

"How do you feel about coming back to District One today?" they call. "Do you think you should have been here sooner? Do you wish you could have said goodbye?"

I exchange glances with Gloss, confused by their strange questions. The Peacekeepers part to let us through and the only person I see is Satin. She stands there alone without even our mother for company, straight-backed and proud, her dark hair pulled back in an elaborate style on top of her head. For once, her suit fits her to perfection, but that isn't the only thing I notice. It's black, completely black, and therefore my mind is already racing ahead of itself when Gloss's hand tightens around my wrist.

"Look at her left hand, Cash," he whispers.

The sunlight catches the gold ring she wears, and for some reason what registers first is not something which may provide an explanation for why she's wearing it at all, but that she wears it on her thumb because it's too big for her fingers. The first woman to wear the de Montfort family ring since before there was a Hunger Games and probably before there was even a Capitol. There's only one reason that would explain why my sister has the symbol of the head of my family. My father is dead.

"It's good to see you, little brother," she says, approaching Gloss and only stiffening slightly when he pulls her into a hug. "It's possible you might be cleverer than I give you credit for," she adds as she turns to me when Gloss lets her go.

"Be careful, Satin," I reply. "That was almost a compliment."

"That very much depends upon the opinion I had of you before, don't you think?" she retorts haughtily, but though her words are as harsh as ever, I'm certain I can see her trying not to smile.

"This way, please," interrupts a Capitol official, bustling towards us carrying the mandatory clipboard. "Miss Satin in the first car and Gloss and Miss Cashmere in the second."

I open my mouth to protest, to demand some time to find out what is and has been going on, but the number of people surrounding us quickly multiplies.

"Satin?" I call after her as she is ushered away. "Is it true? What happened?"

She raises her left hand so I can clearly see the gold ring but she says nothing. She doesn't have time, for before she can speak, yet another official practically pushes her into the car. If looks could kill then the man would never be seeing his home city again, and he hastily closes the door behind her.

I turn to look at Gloss but find he isn't there and that he's already being guided to into the next car to the accompaniment of thousands of camera flashes and almost as many questions. An official tries to do the same to me but once I get close to the car, I decide I've had enough and spin around to face everyone.

"Stop!" I shout, my cry causing Gloss to poke his head back out of the car to look at me with a strange mixture of anxiety and amusement. "I've come back home to find my sister dressed in mourning clothes and my mother nowhere to be found. I won't take another step unless you either arrest me or tell me what's going on."

My eyes briefly meet Falco's as the circle of people around the car parts to let him through, but then I return my focus to the woman in front of me as soon as she starts to speak.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you that your father tragically passed away yesterday morning, Miss de Montfort. We expected you to be informed during your journey here," she says quietly, and I know what's coming next because it's the way things are done here and nothing would horrify my father more than deviating from tradition. "You are to be taken to the Victor's Village so your brother can be presented with his new house and then when you've both changed, you will be taken to the funeral service."

I stare blankly back at her as what I've known from the second I saw Satin waiting alone on the platform suddenly starts to sink in now someone has eventually said the words out loud. I feel numb as Falco gently guides me into the car, not with grief but more with shock. I've never loved my father, not really, just like he's never loved me, but he was a constant in my life in the same way as the Capitol and the Hunger Games. It's difficult to imagine a world without him in it.

* * *

Some time after the elaborate funeral service ended I made my way back to the house that had been my father's and is now Satin's, knowing that it's what will be expected of me and not quite feeling up to defying years of District One tradition. Not with all those guests watching anyway. The list of so-called mourners included the head of virtually every wealthy and powerful family in the district, and I have too much pride to let them see the truth. Especially when the truth is that I can't seem to summon up enough feeling to grieve the death of a man I didn't love even though he was my father.

The sun has long since set, and I find myself staring around the room at the light fittings, which have changed from when I was here last. I wonder if that was Satin's doing because they look more to her taste than they would have been to Father's. This is what mother used to call the 'guest reception room' when I was a child growing up here, and I can't help thinking how appropriate that is. I feel like a guest now, even if I had used to call this place my home.

Nobody will tell me much about what happened yesterday, only that a mystery and unknown illness caused my father to collapse and that by the time my mother found him it was too late. The more I think about it, the more it doesn't make sense. Father has always been so healthy so I can think of nothing that might have caused him to drop down dead without any warning. Nothing natural anyway, says the nagging voice at the back of my mind that I've been trying to subdue since I first found out what had happened.

When I went to see President Snow six months ago, he told me there would be consequences if I didn't do what I was told. And I'm not doing as I'm told, not any more. Perhaps I've been stupid to think he wouldn't find out. Maybe he knows about Falco and I and this is his way of punishing me. He's probably waiting for me to return to the Capitol so he can drag me into his dark and terrifying office again and tell me how my father's death was a warning, that next time it will be someone else, someone dearer to me who I can't live without. Falco told me that poison is the president's weapon of choice when subtlety is required so it all fits. It might be over a year since I was a tribute in the Games, but it looks like I can add the name of my own father to my Kill List.

I look up suddenly when the door slams open so quickly it almost falls off its hinges as Satin storms into the room. She's angrier than I've ever seen her, but I soon realise her rage isn't directed at me. That makes a change. However I know her well enough to know that doesn't mean she won't take it out on me because I'm the only one here. I take a deep breath and try to stay calm, deciding that I don't want to argue with her no matter what she says.

"They've all gone now. You don't have to maintain the act anymore," she snarls as soon as she sees me.

"In that case, neither do you. What's got you all worked up?"

"What's it to you? Run along back to the Victor's Village where you belong. I told you, they've all gone. There's nobody around to see you for the disgrace to this family that you really are."

"No," I reply flatly, resolutely sticking to the decision I made before I even left the Capitol that I won't run away and that I won't let her push me away either. "I'm not going anywhere and I won't let you push me away with insults you don't really mean. What is it?"

She stares at me for several minutes, perhaps waiting for me to decide I've had enough and leave. I can't read the expression on her face because it changes so often. I can't tell if she wants me to stay or if she wants me to go, but to be honest I don't think she knows that herself.

"Satin…"

She exhales deeply, a few strands of her usually unruly hair finally breaking free from the confines of its previously immaculate style as she shakes her head. She pushes them behind her ears like she always did when she was a child, the gesture as unchanged as the woman before me is transformed.

"All day I've been exchanging fake words and accepting people's false condolences," she says, her voice starting off calm and controlled but gradually rising and speeding up with every word she speaks, "but nobody truly believes this is a coincidence or an accident. And Glory Woodville turning up just proves it. How that woman has the nerve…" she spits, fury radiating from her once more as she continues to pace around the room.

"So you don't think he died of natural causes either?" I ask, waiting for her to blame me like I've been blaming myself.

"What? Of course not, but…" She laughs and I narrow my eyes questioningly. "You do, don't you?"

"Do what?"

"Oh, little sister, when are you going to learn that not everything is about you?"

"Isn't it?"

"Cashmere, if this was about you then do you really think it would have been our father who died? I doubt there's a person in Panem who would believe you were the dutiful daughter of a loving father."

I stare silently back at her, realising as she speaks that she has a point. I don't know why I didn't see that before. I should have done. Not that I will ever admit it to her.

"Then why? Who?"

"Money and power," she replies. "Why else?"

"But-"

"Think about it. You're not that stupid, Cashmere."

I glare at her until suddenly it all clicks into place. "Glory. She's behind it all. She wants to take over the workshop. She wants the contracts Father had with the jewellers in the Capitol."

"Very good, sister dearest," she replies, her tone mocking but almost teasingly so rather than spitefully. "I knew you'd get there in the end."

"So what was she doing here?"

"Gloating because I can't prove anything and snooping. But she picked the wrong woman to mess with. She'll find that out soon enough."

"What are you going to do? The Capitol tax you more every month and people don't know you like they knew Father."

"I'm his daughter. I'll manage. I'll think of something, just like I've always had to before."

"Satin, be careful," I tell her quietly. "I don't want to be burying you as well."

"I might not have fought in the arena but I've fought plenty of battles of my own while you've been swanning around the Capitol. I can look after myself."

"I think we both know I haven't been 'swanning' anywhere," I retort sharply, my tone hardening into a warning for the first time since we were reunited on the station platform. I'd say I was disappointed in myself but I think that's something of a record for my sister and I so I shouldn't really complain.

She inclines her head slightly in as much of an apology as I'm likely to get.

"I can look after myself. I'm not scared of Glory Woodville."

"I know we've never exactly been best friends, but if you need anything-"

"I don't want your money, Cashmere. I don't need your help."

"Suit yourself, sister mine," I reply dryly. "But don't say I didn't offer."

"I won't," she says, sitting stiffly down beside me on the sofa, her straight back a complete contrast to the way I lie with my feet on the coffee table and my arm draped over the backrest. "Where's Gloss?"

"Where's Mother?"

"The hospital," she replies, closing her eyes and briefly looking away. "She found Father yesterday. She had some kind of breakdown and they took her there so she couldn't harm herself. I tried to get in to see her but they wouldn't let me."

"Are they going to let her out?"

"I don't think so," she says. "I just about found the money to pay for her to be treated properly but I don't know any more than that. You know how it works, if we want to see her then we'll have to pay."

"Then we'll pay. I have money the Capitol pays me for winning the Games and I don't want it."

She nods sadly. "I should tell Gloss."

"He said he'd see me back here. He won't be long."

She doesn't reply but leans further back on the chair, her shoulder almost brushing mine. I don't think we've been this close to each other for years, not since we were small children.

"Thank you," I whisper quietly, breaking the silence that seems to have stretched on forever.

"For what?" she asks, narrowing her eyes slightly but still not moving away.

"For what you said and did when they interviewed you. It made a real difference."

"You don't have to thank me for that, Cashmere," she says sternly. "He's my brother too."

"I know, but…you did it and you didn't have to. It must have been difficult."

"Not really, not compared to dealing with Father when things weren't going our way. I almost think it'll be easier for me now, even with the Capitol and Glory and everything else."

"You'll be fine," I say, and it feels strange to be comforting her like this. It actually seems strange to be having what passes for a civil conversation full stop. "You can cope."

"Perhaps," she says, talking to me but seemingly lost in her thoughts.

"You look good anyway," I say, trying to lighten her mood.

"Thanks," she replies with a smile that only looks slightly forced. "But I have one question for you. What in Panem is 'Beauty Base Zero'?"

I laugh, unable to help myself. "You, just without any blemishes and scars. Where did you get that from?"

"When the camera crew came to film those interviews I did during the Games, they brought two women with them." I nod, resisting the urge to laugh again as I suddenly realise where she's going with this because Charis told me all about it before I left the Capitol. "The first thing the younger one said to me was 'Are you really Cashmere's sister because you look nothing like her?', which of course I took as a compliment, but then when the other one walked me to my bedroom and told me to undress, you can imagine my reaction."

I can, and I laugh as I imagine the consequences of Drusilla encountering Satin and the inevitable battle of iron wills that must have ensued. "What happened?"

"I very politely reminded her that I'm no tribute girl and that she had no business treating me like one. We, how shall I put it…disagreed about what should happen next and the younger one had to mediate. In the end we compromised and they did my hair and make up."

"And your wardrobe," I add, admiring the metallic blue brocade dress she's wearing.

She nods. "That was something we could all agree on. Probably the only thing."

"They mean well," I say, "which is more than can be said for most of their kind."

"They did seem to really. They wanted Gloss to win anyway. And they're very loyal to you. I was sick of the sound of your name by the time they'd finally finished with me."

"Cashmere? Satin?"

"We're here, Gloss," I call, smiling as I hear him close the front door and walk down the corridor towards us.

He appears in the doorway a second later and immediately sits down on the sofa, pushing Satin and I apart so he can sit in the middle before pulling my legs across his lap, nervously twisting the ribbon on one of my shoes.

"What's wrong?" I ask, noticing how on edge he seems and deciding it's because of more than just the memory of the arena and the events of today. He wasn't close to Father either.

"I heard about Mother."

"How?" asks Satin immediately. Nobody mentioned the subject at the funeral, not wanting to provide the gossips with more to talk about than they already had.

"Your friend was here. Well, outside anyway. She didn't seem to have the courage to go any further than the garden gate, but she was very eager to tell me about how Mother found Father yesterday and how they took her away to hospital."

"Glory?" replies Satin instantly, half rising to her feet and looking ready to go in for the kill. "Is she still here?"

Gloss puts his hand on her arm. "She's gone. I sent her away. I told her she had no business here and she seemed to get the message."

Satin falls back down, looking slightly disappointed, and nobody speaks after that. It seems strange to be sitting in this house again, with Gloss beside me and Satin sitting where Sapphire should be. It's even stranger to be here without Father's presence. It always used to seem like he filled this house, like he could be in every room at the same time and it was impossible to get away. The difference now he's gone is almost tangible.

"What will you do now?" asks Gloss, looking down at Satin's hand and the ring she wears.

"What I have to," she replies. "This family's name is all I have. I have to fight for it."

"You don't have to fight on your own."

"I've been through this with Cashmere," she replies, her voice considerably softer when she speaks to Gloss than when she spoke to me, "I can cope on my own. I don't need your help, especially as you won't be here most of the time."

Gloss shivers and refuses to meet my gaze when I turn to look at him. I look beyond him to Satin in time to see her eyes narrow as she also looks at our brother.

"Will they make you keep going to the Capitol?" she asks. "Will they make you…"

"I'm not having this conversation, Satin," he replies harshly, barely sounding like Gloss at all. "If you can say you don't want my help then I can say I don't want you to know about that. Cash, I'm going home, are you coming?"

"In a minute," I say, staring after him as he swiftly leaves the room. "Satin? You can come with me if you like. I've got a lot of spare rooms and you always did like the Victor's Village." She doesn't respond. "Satin?"

"Go," she whispers eventually. "I want to be on my own."

I wait for a minute, hoping she will change her mind without really expecting her to. Therefore I'm not surprised when she continues to ignore me.

"You know where we are," I tell her, getting up and looking down at her.

Her eyes are almost closed, scrunched up like she's holding back tears she won't allow to fall. She still doesn't look at me. It hurts me a lot more than I ever thought it would when I turn and walk away.

* * *

"Gloss? Gloss, are you home?"

I close the front door behind me and walk slowly across the hall, pausing every couple of strides to listen for a sign that will tell me where my brother is hiding. I get to the staircase without hearing anything so I call his name again. Still nothing.

I run upstairs, showering and changing as quickly as I can but not doing anything else first. It's become a habit now, washing the Capitol away, and I've done exactly the same every time I've returned home since Gloss won the Games four months ago. He hasn't been back there yet, and he won't, not until the conclusion of his Victory Tour. He is exempt, but I'm not, and he always says he can smell the Capitol on me when I step off the train and he hugs me. This is the first time he hasn't been there to meet me.

"Gloss!" I call, going back downstairs and trying first the kitchen and then the dining room.

I'm starting to think that he's gone out by the time I peer around the sitting room door, so I'm not really expecting to find him there, huddled on the floor in the corner with his knees tucked up to his chest. Seeing him like that reminds me of seeing him in the Training Centre hospital when he came back from the arena. He's rocking slightly, trembling like he was before.

"Gloss-"

"Go away," he snaps, turning towards the wall so I can't see his face. "I want to be on my own."

And so we finally come to it. A whole four months later than I expected it, but the arena has finally caught up with him. It must be that. It's the only thing I can think of to explain this reaction.

"No," I reply flatly. "This is my house. If you want to be on your own then you've got your own place next door."

He's barely set foot in that house since the day he was presented with the key. He moved in with me when I won my Games and it's only in name that he ever moved out.

"What?" he retorts, sounding almost confused by my response. "I mean it, Cashmere. Leave me."

I raise my eyebrows at him, refusing to be intimidated, refusing to leave him to face his pain and misery alone no matter how much he's trying to push me away.

"I already told you," I say calmly, crossing the room to stand in front of him, "I'm not leaving, so you might as well talk to me."

"I don't know what to say," he whispers eventually, his voice barely audible as he looks up at me with tear-stained eyes. "I can't get away from it. Every time I think I'm starting to forget, I see something that reminds me."

I reach down and grasp his arm, tugging softly and hoping he'll let me help him up. After a few attempts he does, and I guide him to the nearest armchair, sitting him down on it and kneeling on the floor a short distance away. He puts his head in his hands and resolutely refuses to look at me.

"What reminded you? What did you see?"

"Mags."

"What do you mean?"

"On the television. There was a programme showing her Games. She killed the man from District Six. The presenter started talking about their bad luck in the arena. He was talking about that man. The one I killed."

"You didn't kill him, Gloss," I say, knowing he means Titus. "And even if you did, he was trying to kill you. You did what you had to do to survive. That doesn't make you a bad person."

"But it does," he replies in a strangled sort of voice. "I put myself before them and would have done anything to survive. If it had been that little girl from District Nine who'd got in my way then it wouldn't have mattered. I'd have killed her so I could live. Now I have to live with that and I can't bear it."

"It gets easier," I tell him, knowing I'm not being totally truthful. "Honestly, it does."

"Don't lie to me, Cash. It's nearly a year and a half since your Games and your nightmares still make you wake up screaming."

And the arena's not the only thing that haunts my dreams, I think, but I keep my thoughts to myself. I can't protect him from much but I can protect him from the knowledge that the memory of what happened to me after my Tour hasn't faded over time and causes me as much pain as it ever did. Or I can try. To be honest I think he knows the truth without me having to tell him.

I decide to say nothing, moving to sit on the arm of his chair. He takes my hand in his and clings to it like he's never going to let go. When I wake up in the morning I'm sitting on his lap, his hand still wrapped around mine.

* * *

I drag my overnight bag down the corridor and into the kitchen, stubbornly sticking to my decision to take some of my own things even though the reality is that everything is provided for me in the Capitol. This is the sixth time the invitation to return there has arrived in the six months since Gloss won the Games. It seems that being siblings who've won for two consecutive years is enough to keep my brother and I in the thoughts of the people who watched us as we fought for our lives. And if they can't have the tribute yet then they'll have the mentor instead. Or at least that's what I hope the president thinks. The reality is that I've been Achillea Redsparrow's messenger girl ever since that night Falco finally told me the truth about the almost-rebellion.

"Are you going again now? So close to Gloss's Tour?"

I jump in response to the unexpected voice, dropping my bag to the floor with a loud bang to find Satin sitting at my kitchen table, staring unblinkingly at me with very tired-looking eyes.

"I've been invited, Satin. I have no choice. I'll be coming home on the tribute train to collect Gloss in a couple of days."

"Do you still have to…? Are they making you…?"

"No," I reply, speaking without thinking and instantly regretting it.

"I didn't think so."

"I shouldn't have said that," I say, frantically rushing over to sit opposite her, taking her hands across the table and gripping them tightly. "You mustn't repeat it. Not ever. It'll be my death if you do."

"And your lover's," she replies, pulling her hands away.

I nod, not seeing the point in denying it when I knew she'd work out the truth as soon as I spoke. She sighs wearily in response.

"You're my sister, Cashmere. Sisters shouldn't betray each other. And I'm glad it's not happening now. You never deserved that."

"Satin, what are you doing in my kitchen?" I ask, not feeling up to talking about what happened to me after my Victory Tour. "Don't you have a party to go to or a contract to bid for?"

"I came here to tell you that I meant it when I said I don't want your money," she says. "I was Father's heir, the family is my responsibility and I don't need your help."

"What money?" I say, pleading an ignorance I have no right to claim when I know exactly what she means.

"Don't play dumb with me, little sister. There's twice as much money in the family's business account now than there was yesterday."

"Maybe the Capitol didn't take as much tax as usual?"

"Yes, Cashmere," she replies sarcastically. "And maybe Falco Hazelwell came to my house last night and told me he's always wanted me instead of you. Get real and tell me the truth."

"Satin, look at yourself. You don't sleep, you barely eat. You're holding on by your fingertips and you know it even if you're so stubborn that you'll never admit it. All you need to know is that money came from an anonymous donor who wanted you to have it. Use it. You need it more than I do."

"Actually," she says thoughtfully, "I have an idea. I've had it for a while, but you might not like it…"

"If you're going to kill Glory Woodville then don't make me your accomplice," I tease.

She shakes her head. "Nothing would make me happier than the end of that vile woman, but it's not that. It's…it doesn't matter. Forget it."

"You have to tell me now you've said that."

"I don't have to tell you anything," she replies, looking incredibly relieved to hear the knock at the back door.

I turn to look at it, staring fearfully at it like I think it's going to come to life and attack me. Gloss is upstairs and I'm not expecting visitors. Besides, even if I was, surely they would use the front door.

"So this is why I'm always standing on the doorstep for so long when I visit," taunts Satin playfully, making me see, not for the first time recently, that she isn't as different to Gloss and I as I've always thought. "Aren't you going to answer it?"

I scowl at her and quickly get up, crossing the room and tentatively reaching for the handle just as the knock sounds again.

"What are you doing here?" I ask as I open the door to find Falco standing there looking at me with expectance that soon changes to mock-indignation.

"I had to visit the mayor," he says. "I didn't think there was much point in going back to the Capitol tonight when I could get the same train as you in the morning. But if you don't want me here then I'll just go."

I shake my head, not bothering to speak as I grasp the sleeve of his shirt, pulling him inside and slamming the door closed before almost falling into his arms. Only when she clears her throat do I remember Satin.

"I'm sure there are people who'd go as far as paying for the privilege of sitting where I am now, but I'm really not one of them, so if you don't mind…"

Falco laughs and pushes me away slightly, extending his hand to her.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure. You must be Satin."

"Yes," she replies, taking his hand, her smile uncharacteristically shy. "We've met before but a long time ago. I'm almost hoping you don't remember."

"I do," he replies softly, "but I think a lot has changed since then."

"I can't deny that," she says before turning back to me. "I'd better be going. Just don't do it again, will you?"

"Do what?" I ask, knowing she means the money as well as she does.

She opens her mouth to reply but as she does, the kitchen door opens again and Gloss strolls in as casually as he usually does.

"I thought I heard your voice, Satin," he says, hugging her gently before turning his attention to Falco. "It's been a while, Falco. Official Business has missed you."

Falco laughs lightly, examining Gloss closely as if he's checking to see how whole he is. He looks almost as relieved as I feel because of what he sees. Gloss has been coping slightly better lately and it shows.

"Are you going back to the Capitol with Cashmere tomorrow?"

"Yes. Assuming I'm welcome to stay here until then," he adds, looking down at me.

Gloss grins. "Good. You know she can't be trusted on her own."

I glare at him but I know what he means really. I know he wants Falco with me because he thinks that way I'll be safer. Not for the first time, I'm torn between not wishing to leave him and feeling overwhelmingly relieved that I don't have to take him with me.

"I'll see you before you both leave," says Satin quietly. Then she quickly walks away, not meeting my eyes in a way that makes me decide she thinks she's said too much, that she thinks her short sentence was too much like admitting she needs us.

"You will be back before the Tour starts, won't you?" asks Gloss as we all sit down around the kitchen table.

"I told you, we'll be coming back here on the tribute train. I'll come back to the house and we can go to the station together. I won't leave you to face the People from the Other World on your own."

"Good," he replies, crossing his arms and pretending to sulk.

"I promise you, Gloss," I say, realising immediately that he's trying to pretend he isn't scared when really he can't bear the thought of facing the families of the tributes who didn't return home.

He looks across at me and smiles. "I just want it over with, Cash," he says.

"It will be over very soon," I reply, trying to reassure him even though the mere thought of going on another Victory Tour fills me with almost as much dread as I felt the first time.

It will be over soon though. It will. Whatever happens on the Tour, it won't last forever, and now I know about the plotting in the Capitol, I can also hope this version of Panem that is the only place I've ever known won't last forever either.

* * *

_**I just want to say thanks to BNTN for being my second opinion (as usual) and also thanks to everyone who reviewed last time. A lot of people have been asking me if I'm going to write the 74th Games and the Quarter Quell, and the answer is that I will keep writing if you're still reading. If I stopped at the end of 'Illusion' then I think it would feel like I'd ended the story halfway through...**_


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

"You might as well admit it, Falco, I'm only here so you and Cashmere can be seen in public together without there being a scandal."

"Now, now, Felix," replies Falco with a smirk. "You should know better than to ask questions when you know you won't like the response."

I shake my head disapprovingly at both of them before returning my attention to what's still going on around me in the vast restaurant. There are people everywhere, laughing, joking and generally milling around so they can see and be seen by those who matter to them. Although for once I'm not here for one of the president's sordid assignations, I still feel uncomfortable when their eyes fall on me. I have to keep continuously looking back at Falco to convince myself I can carry on pretending I'm happy here.

"Do you want anything else?" he asks.

I shake my head, feeling like I won't be able to eat or drink another thing for a week. "Is it time for us to go?"

"Do you want to?"

I nod, shuffling as close to him as I dare in a public place like this. "They're all looking at me. I don't like it."

"I know," he replies seriously before smiling and trying to make me laugh like he always does when I get panicked like this. "But are you surprised? You shouldn't have let Felix persuade you to wear that dress."

I roll my eyes with as much disapproval as I can manage, looking down at the red and gold creation that was the last thing I wore at Felix's latest fashion show and photo shoot. The man who dressed me when I was a tribute and is still unofficially my stylist now had asked President Snow for permission to bring me here for the promotion of his new collection, knowing that however famous he's become in his own right, the first memories the majority of people here have of him are from when he dressed me for the Games. After the president had agreed I'd accepted Felix's invitation because I'd wanted to help him. Such modelling work is my talent, after all, not that I really think it should qualify as one when it requires no effort at all.

"It's only right that you should wear the dress, Cashmere," says Felix before I can speak. "I made it for you."

"And then you didn't have the heart to tell Callista that she couldn't practice her newly-gained skills on me," I add, staring down at my arms, which are stencilled with twisting vines in a strange gold paint that matches the colour of the butterfly tattoo on my wrist exactly.

"There was that as well," replies my stylist slightly sheepishly, not quite willing to admit that he couldn't bring himself to say no to his assistant.

"This message was left for you," interrupts a young man who wears the black and white uniform of the restaurant.

He passes a neatly folded piece of paper to Falco, who accepts it, reads it, then very quickly crumples it up and puts it inside his pocket.

"I'm sorry but I have to go," he says, looking up at me when I instinctively tense and reach out to him, only just making myself keep my hands on the table in front of me.

"Take me with you."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," he replies, making me wonder who the message was from and where he's going even more than I was already.

"Felix has to go back to the Grand Hall now. I don't want to be on my own here. Falco, please."

He stares at me for several seconds, his eyes never leaving mine. I stare right back at him, willing him to see what I'm feeling so he'll change his mind about leaving me alone in the place that seems to permanently haunt my nightmares.

"Fine, but you won't be able to go everywhere with me and you'll probably have to wait around a lot."

"That doesn't matter," I reply, trying to sound casual when all I really want to do is scream that I don't care where I am as long as I can go where he goes, as long as I don't have to go back to the apartment I haven't set foot in since the early hours of the morning that followed the last night of my Victory Tour.

* * *

We quickly leave the restaurant, Felix walking away down the still crowded street and Falco and I getting into his now familiar black car. His driver takes us to another of the grand houses which are amongst the oldest buildings in the Capitol. I recognise where we are because we're not far from Vespasian's.

I gaze curiously around as a uniformed man shows us into the house and to what looks like a sitting room. Everything looks so precisely placed that I'm almost too scared to move. It looks like something out of one of the magazines a lot of the Capitolians love to read, the ones that accompany their gossip about the wealthy and famous with pictures of their palatial houses. It's only when I notice the photographs on the sideboard that I finally dare to step forwards, moving to take a closer look.

The first photograph is of a young girl who I'd guess to be about ten years old. She stares straight into the camera, her green eyes and black hair seeming to sparkle as much as the jewels on her dress. She looks more than a little bit familiar, but it's only when I focus on the next picture that I know why. This picture shows the girl as a startlingly beautiful young woman, as petite as ever and appearing all the more so as she stands between two tall men about her age. Narissa. And I'd recognise Falco and Felix anywhere.

"That was taken the year before I married," whispers Falco, looking over my shoulder at the photograph.

"But Astoria isn't there," I reply, hating even the mention of that woman's name.

"We were never friends," he says, taking the picture from me so he can look more closely.

"You haven't changed that much," I tease, taking it back and setting it down on the sideboard as I deliberately change the subject.

"Don't lie to me, Butterfly. I always know when you're lying to me."

"You haven't," I protest, before narrowing my eyes sharply at the photograph. "And neither has Narissa," I continue with a scowl. "I was kind of hoping she doesn't naturally look like she does. It'd make me feel better."

He laughs. "I'm sorry to disappoint you but I doubt she's even seen a surgeon's knife never mind been under one. But I wouldn't worry, she's got nothing on you."

"Stop it with the flattery, it doesn't suit you," I tell him, scowling again on the outside but smiling smugly on the inside however much I try not to.

I turn back to the sideboard, scanning the other photographs and finding many more of Narissa and some of another woman who resembles her greatly even if she is plainer and a lot less flamboyant. I'm guessing she's Narissa's mother, and that can only mean one thing…

"This is Achillea's house, isn't it?" I ask as the pieces of the puzzle suddenly fit together in my head.

"Yes, although Narissa lives here as well."

"That must be useful," I reply cryptically.

He smiles, instantly understanding the meaning behind my words. If Falco is here then everyone will just assume he's visiting his childhood friend. Nobody would think to question his presence in this house, which can only be good for the rebellion.

The door swings open and the same man, who I assume must be a servant, appears. He looks at Falco rather than at me.

"You can go through now."

"I'll be as quick as I can," says Falco quickly before starting to move towards the door. "Will you be alright here?"

I nod once and smile as enthusiastically as I can when all I really want to do is cling to him and not let go. When I'm in District One I can just about maintain the pretence that I'm the Cashmere I always was. When I'm in District One I'm on home ground and people know me. I already had a fierce reputation and it didn't take much to maintain it considering what everyone watched me do in the arena to win the Games. But when I'm in the Capitol I go right back to where I was twelve months ago and I rely on Falco more than I ever thought I'd rely on anybody.

"I'll be back soon," he says, his expression telling me he's guessed what I'm thinking.

He turns and walks away. I clasp my hands together behind my back, twisting them to stop myself from reaching out and trying to keep him here.

* * *

Throughout my life I have seen a lot more luxury than the majority of Panem's citizens, both before I won the Games and after, but as I pace around the room I can't help thinking that I've never seen anything quite like this. The curtains sparkle with thousands of tiny gemstones, the carpet is so thick that my shoes almost disappear inside it, and every ornament on the sideboard appears to be made of solid gold. It's too much, even for me, but maybe I'm just thinking that because I'm getting frustrated. I wish I knew why I was here. Falco said he wouldn't be long but then he vanished and I've seen no sign of him. That was two hours ago. It must be rebellion business, I think, hardly even daring to say the word, not even inside my own head.

The clock on the mantelpiece strikes twelve for midnight just as the door opens and Falco peers inside.

"It's about time," I grumble, refusing to walk towards him in the hope that will convey how fed up I am of waiting. "Where have-"

"She wants to see you," he says, shaking his head amusedly at my grumpiness.

"Why?" I reply, knowing by his tone of voice that he means Achillea and feeling immediately suspicious.

"She wants to ask you something. She wants your opinion."

"And why would someone like her care about the opinion of someone like me?"

"Here was me thinking you have more confidence in yourself than that," he teases, deliberately avoiding my question.

I sigh and walk towards him, knowing resistance is futile and that if the old woman who leads the would-be rebels wants to see me then there's no way I'm getting out of here without seeing her. I can't imagine what she wants with me though. I've done as she wanted on the few occasions I've had the opportunity and surely I'm so insignificant to her that she shouldn't be concerning herself with anything more than that.

I take a deep breath and follow Falco next door, feeling strangely like I did when I had to go to my father's office when I was growing up. Achillea's sitting in front of a massive television screen that looks very much like the ones in the Control Room, ensconced in a massive armchair. She is white haired and almost frail-looking, but she turns and focuses intently at me as I cross the room towards her. There's nothing frail about the look in her eyes.

"Thank you for waiting, Miss de Montfort," she says, her voice sounding a lot stronger than her body looks. "Falco and I had matters to discuss that took a bit longer than I imagined."

I nod but say nothing, wondering why she is apologising to me. When she gestures for us both to sit on the sofa next to her armchair I instinctively obey her instantly, and interestingly so does Falco. It's strange for me to see him so subservient to another when it's usually the other way around and it's an effort not to smile.

"Why do you want to see me?" I ask when eventually the silence becomes more than I can bear. "I haven't been…in a position to pass on any more messages for you."

"I know that," she snaps almost absentmindedly as she turns back to the television, fiddling with the buttons on a remote that I suspect she can barely see even though I also suspect she'd rather die than admit it.

"I'm sorry but I don't understand."

"We just want your opinion on a decision we're considering," says Falco, taking my hand in his. I almost pull back instinctively against the public display of our forbidden affection but I remain where I am when I remember we have no secrets from Achillea.

I open my mouth to reply but I am interrupted when the television springs to life as the unlikely leader of the nascent rebellion finally presses the right button on the remote. I'm surprised to find myself watching a recording of Beetee and Wiress from District Three, which shows them walking down the path away from the Control Room building. Judging by Wiress's emotional state, I guess it to be the night her tribute girl was killed during Gloss's Games. Right after I decide that, I also decide that neither of them have any idea they are being filmed.

"They are already sympathetic to our cause," says Falco. "Him especially, and she tends to follow where he leads."

"So…?" I reply, still not really understanding what's going on.

"She will want no part of it," says Achillea, and I look back to the screen to see Cecelia from District Eight. "She's already had a child and she's pregnant again. She wouldn't take the risk."

"Agreed," answers Falco, sitting forwards in her chair.

I look from him to her and then back to the screen, which now shows Viola from District Five, before finally exploding.

"For the love of Panem, would someone just tell me what's going on!"

Achillea laughs, shaking her head at me, which only makes me more furious. I glare at her, not quite feeling brave enough to say anything further even though I want nothing more.

"You never chose the shy and retiring ones, did you, Falco? Not even when you were a boy," she says, still laughing.

"Where would be the fun in that?" he replies, returning her smile. "May I?"

She nods once and he turns to me, tightening his grip on my hand when he sees how distracted I am by their easy familiarity.

"As you know because you're one of them, we have a few people outside our inner circle who know of our plans and help us by searching out or passing on information that could be beneficial to our cause." I nod in understanding, giving him my full attention now I finally seem to be getting some answers. "We have a lot of people who do that here in the city, but it isn't enough. For us to succeed we need the districts to follow us, and that means we need people who regularly travel from there to here and back again."

"You mean Victors?"

"Clever girl," says Achillea, and when it comes from her, I find I don't feel nearly as patronised as I would if most people were to speak to me in that way.

"So why do you need me to be here? You already have my loyalty," I say, looking at Falco not at Achillea, which I'm sure is something the old woman won't miss for a second.

"As I'm sure you can imagine considering where you grew up," says Achillea, drawing my focus back to her, "it is very difficult to know who to trust. You have seen these people and spoken to them. And that is why I'm interested to know your opinion."

"If I can help you then I will," I reply, and she smiles slightly before nodding back to the television.

I'm shocked to see Ursala and I sitting on the bench outside the Training Centre and I instantly feel relieved that the camera hasn't picked up our words. Then my shock only grows when the picture jumps and I see a very different looking Ursala walking down a crowded street in what looks like District Two and certainly isn't the Capitol. When I look more closely I see the young girl she carries on her back, who clings to her shoulders tightly so she doesn't fall.

She stops at a market stall and puts the girl down, still holding her close and looking more like she's shielding her rather than acting solely out of affection. I notice how much they resemble each other and realise there's only one person she can be. Velia. I am watching footage of Ursala with her daughter, and like Beetee and Wiress, she clearly doesn't know she's being filmed.

"Are you watching everyone?" I ask, feeling slightly disturbed by what I'm seeing. "Do you watch me like this?"

"I don't need to watch you, Cashmere," replies Achillea. "Falco removes the need for that."

I shudder despite the warmth of the room. All this spying and subterfuge reminds me of the very people Achillea and her allies purport to be fighting against, and while I can see the need for it, that doesn't mean I like it.

"What is your opinion on Miss Barbieri?"

"She loves her daughter. She'll fight for her more fiercely than she ever fought in the arena, but not for anything less. She has no love for _Him _though. I'm sure you already know why."

Achillea nods and I shiver again, the mere reference to the president and his little enterprise making my blood run cold. I turn back to the screen to distract myself and see it has moved on to Tiberius, showing him escorting Theodorus and Megaera into the Remake Centre when they arrived in the Capitol for the build up to the Games.

"Silvestri?" says Falco incredulously. "Are you mad?"

"I don't think it's mad," I retort, speaking before Achillea has the chance, much to her obvious amusement. "He's not stupid and he'd be loyal to the end if he wanted to be."

"He hates you, Butterfly," says Falco quietly.

"What's that got to do with the practicalities of organising a rebellion?"

"I'm starting to like you, Cashmere," interrupts Achillea, cutting across us both. "Who'd have guessed that a seemingly vacuous district girl like you would be so astute?"

I stare back at her, wondering at how she can somehow manage to both compliment and insult me in the same sentence. Then I look back at the screen and all other thoughts are forgotten. The film has obviously moved on, and it shows Tiberius standing alone in what looks like the gymnasium under the Training Centre but clearly isn't. He stands there for several minutes, rolling his shoulders and flexing his arms, swinging the sword he carries around and around as naturally as if it's an extension of his body.

"How can you be filming this?" I ask.

"I am very old and I know a lot of people," replies Achillea softly. "I have spies virtually everywhere, just like Snow does."

I am about to look away from the television when another, smaller figure comes into view, also swinging a sword back and forth. I can't see her face but she stops a short distance from Tiberius, untucking her shirt from her shorts and twisting the fabric so she can tie it tightly under her chest. He watches her intently and smirks, his expression nothing like the constant burning rage I'm used to seeing.

She's barely lowered her hands when he launches himself towards her, but she jumps backwards quicker than I thought possible, throwing her head up as she lifts her sword to meet his. I raise my hand to my mouth to stop myself from crying out when I see her face.

"Dahlia," I gasp.

"Who?" snaps Achillea, sensing some detail she doesn't know.

"She was the last tribute to die in my Games," I reply. "He mentored her."

"And the rest," says the leader of the rebellion perceptively. "Or is that what the youth of today are calling it now?"

"Apparently so," replies Falco, responding to her first comment and laughing at the second.

I nod without taking my eyes off the television, mesmerised by them as they give every impression they're fighting each other with every last ounce of skill they possess, neither holding back even slightly. Backwards and forwards they go so they are almost a blur on the screen, and it's only after watching them for several minutes that I start to notice how he occasionally uses the flat side of his blade to correct her, how he is obviously speaking to her and she's snarling back at him. I wish I could hear what they're saying.

Eventually they both tire, though it takes a lot longer than I ever would have imagined, and he brings his sword up to her throat, spinning her around so she has her back to his chest. I expect them to part, especially because of the look of utter fury at being defeated that is so plain to see on Dahlia's face, but though Tiberius lets his sword drop, he doesn't let her go, seemingly oblivious to how she continues to struggle. I can see them talking even though I still can't hear their words, and after a while she visibly relaxes against him even though the anger doesn't quite leave her face, tilting her head back to rest on his upper arm.

"Turn it off," I tell Achillea. "Watching this isn't right."

"The only way to truly control another is to know the way they think and to understand exactly what it is they hold dear. You might not like it but it's the way it is. How do you think the president has stayed in power for as long as he has?"

"Nobody knows better than I do that Dahlia's dead. This achieves nothing."

"The desire for revenge is powerful," she replies, unfazed by the strength of my reaction. "And now I know who she is… You've been very useful to me, Cashmere."

"Who she was," I correct. "The Capitol killed her as much as I did."

"The Hunger Games killed her," says Achillea firmly. "And if I have my way then there won't be a Games for much longer."

"Is something going to happen soon then?" I ask, looking down at my hands as soon as I finish speaking when I remember who I'm addressing.

Achillea laughs. "I admire your spirit but I think you forget yourself," she says admonishingly. "That isn't for you to know. Not yet anyway."

I nod without meeting her eyes, and am grateful when Falco breaks the silence to ask the old lady if she needs him for anything else.

"I didn't realise the time," she says. "You might as well stay in the guest rooms tonight. There isn't much point in going anywhere else."

"Is that wise?" asks Falco, looking sidelong at me.

"If people aren't suspicious about the two of you by now then they're not going to be," she replies, her eyes twinkling almost mischievously. "Cashmere has obvious aesthetic virtues enough for people to put two and two together to get the answer they always get if they think anything of it at all. Half the Capitol already thinks you're sleeping with my granddaughter so you staying here is more likely to add fuel to that fire, don't you think?"

Despite my annoyance at how Achillea thinks she can talk about me like I'm either not here or I can't understand her, it's worth it to see Falco truly rendered speechless, which is something I've very rarely seen before.

"Achillea, I can assure you that I'm not sleeping with Narissa," he says flatly when he recovers his composure. "She's like a sister to me, you know that."

"I do, but the people out there don't. I wouldn't deny it if I were you. It will detract from what I find to be a very obvious truth," she says, looking at me with her sharp brown eyes.

She takes a bell from the table beside her chair and rings it loudly enough to make me cringe against the grating sound it makes. A servant, different to the one I saw before, gestures for Falco and I to follow him once Achillea tells him we'll be staying in the guest rooms.

"Good luck with your brother's Tour," she calls as I reach back for the door so I can close it behind me.

"Thank you," I reply softly, not knowing what else to say when the thought of tomorrow fills me with so much dread.

* * *

I decide I don't want to stay in here alone almost as soon as Achillea's servant closes the door behind him. The intricately carved white furniture, the vast four-poster bed with the silver and lilac curtains, the bejewelled chandelier above it, this place is the height of fashion here, and it's also noticeably similar to the room I found myself in when I was in the Capitol a couple of months before Gloss's reaping. I can almost taste the blood that filled my mouth as I bit down and reopened the old wound on my lip to keep myself silent, I can feel the ties that bound me get tighter and tighter like they bind me still as I hear the voice that even now fills my nightmares. I can't stay here. I have to get out.

I race back across the room and into the corridor beyond, leaning against the wall until my breathing slowly returns to normal. Falco must have heard me because he appears at my side without me having to call him or knock the adjacent door.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"I can't stay in there," I whisper, looking longingly in the direction of his room. "It reminds me of…it reminds me of somewhere I don't want to be reminded of."

I dread to think what I must look like because he doesn't question me any further. He puts his arm around me and leads me into the other room, pushing me towards the bed. It's as big as the one I've just left but is made of dark wood and has red curtains.

"Better?" he asks, smirking in response to the coy smile I can't quite hide. It makes me wonder if he is also thinking of the red-curtained bed in his apartment, but I say nothing.

I climb into this bed with difficulty because it's so high, and when I eventually manage I find there are so many sheets and blankets that I start to think I might suffocate if I lie down. I know it's the middle of winter but it does seem a little extreme. Gloss would love it, and it's the thought of him that makes me lean against the pillows and wrap the covers tightly around me. If I could do his Victory Tour for him then I would, if I could put Theodorus and Nicon's blood on my hands instead of his then I would. I shiver as Falco turns out the light and everything falls instantly to darkness.

"How is he really?" he asks as he lies down beside me, wrapping me tightly in his arms.

"Still pretending," I reply, knowing he means Gloss. "I found him crying in the study once. It was a couple of months ago and I thought he was finally starting to let go. But he's still not the same Gloss who left District One for the Capitol."

"He's not going to be, Butterfly. How can he be? You're not the same as you were before your Games."

"I know," I say softly, knowing the truth of his words. "But it hurts so much because I can't help him."

"You are helping him," he replies. I push myself even closer to him. "You kept him out of harm's way in the arena. You got him out alive. You. Not me, not his sponsors, not even Gloss himself until the very end. It was you who saved him and you've stayed by his side ever since."

"He's my brother. I love him. What else would I have done?"

"Exactly. You were there for him and you will continue to be there for him now. He's luckier than a lot of Victors."

"But it will still happen to him, won't it? When we get back here, I mean."

I can't see him in the darkness but I feel him nod. He turns over to lie on his back, pulling me with him. I protest both at being disturbed and in response to what he just didn't quite say.

"Did you speak to him?" I ask, resting my head on his chest again.

"Yes."

"And?"

"I explained how difficult it would be to do for him what I do for you. He said he didn't even want me to try."

"Why?" I reply incredulously. My brother and I have avoided this subject almost entirely since he won the Games, but I've still been clinging to a faint hope that the president won't sell Gloss like he thinks he's still selling me, or that Falco will be able to use his connections to somehow stop it. "Why would he say that?"

"He says he doesn't care, that it means nothing to him. He doesn't want to risk drawing attention to you in case the president hears about it."

"He doesn't know what he's saying," I say, my mind racing as I realise Gloss is once more trying to sacrifice himself to protect me. "He doesn't know what it's like. If he did then he'd let you try to help him."

"I don't know that I can and he sounded pretty rational to me," he replies. "I find it difficult to go against his decision when he has a point. It'll be a lot harder to keep them away from him as well. And a lot harder to conceal."

"But why should he suffer because of me? I can't bear the thought of those vile women pawing at him like they do Finnick Odair."

"He loves you, Cashmere. It's his decision."

* * *

It's a little before nine when the train pulls into the District One station and Gloss isn't there to meet us. Looking at the vast numbers of reporters and camera crews who have already gathered in anticipation of the beginning of the Tour, I'm not surprised. Even if he'd got as far as the station, my brother would have taken one look at the crowds and fled back the way he came.

"That's enough now," calls Falco as I blink in response to the many hundreds of flashing lights. "We'll be back in a few hours with the one you're really here to see."

He pushes me forwards before I can say anything about how I wish he wouldn't draw any more attention to Gloss than my brother already has forced upon him. Then the reporters close in and all thoughts of speaking leave my mind. No matter how much time has passed since I won the Games, I still hate the way they all surge around me, trying to keep me in view for as long as they can. I never get used to it and I don't think I ever will. It's ironic that I once thought I wouldn't mind the attention.

"Are you going to find Satin?"

"I don't have time," I reply, despite how I hoped I'd be able to see my sister before we leave the district again, partly because of my mother and partly because for some reason I find myself caring about Satin more than I ever did when I was younger. "I need to get back to Gloss. I promised him."

"You won't be able to see him if you go home now. Lucretia and the prep team are still with him."

"How do you know?"

"Haven't you realised by now?" he teases. "I know everything."

He holds the door open for me, laughing at the way I glare at him, and then follows me inside.

"If we went now…"

"I'll wait for you in the car."

I nod and tell the driver to take us to the workshop I will always think of as being my father's. I hardly ever went there even as a child, and it seems strange to be going back now. But I have to know that Satin and my mother are alright before Gloss and I leave them behind again. I laugh to myself then, wondering what the Cashmere I was two years ago would say if I were to be able to tell her how much I would come to care for the sister I always despised.

It doesn't take long to reach my destination, and just like I always have, I shiver when I look up at the massive building. The place has been referred to as the 'workshop' for as long as I can remember, but to me that implies it's a lot smaller than it really is. The reality is that it's a glorified factory, a warehouse where hundreds of people go to work every day, producing the gemstones and jewellery that are considered a basic necessity by most Capitolians.

The first vast room I get to is almost silent, with people of all ages sitting at individual tables. Most of them lean forwards over their work as they form the elaborate necklaces and earrings demanded by Satin's customers. They all know they can't make a mistake, that the Capitol won't tolerate even the slightest imperfection.

"Where's the boss?" I ask, my voice loud in the quiet of the room as I address the very familiar man who is supervising the others as they work.

"I think she's still in her office," he replies. "It's unusual to see you here, Miss Cashmere," he continues, smiling a smile I remember from my rare childhood visits here.

He was the one who comforted me when I'd finally been allowed to escape my father's office. He is one of the few people here I have fond memories of, so it's very easy to return his smile.

"You know the boss doesn't like her little sister interfering," I call back as I head off out of the room and into a very familiar corridor that still fills me with dread even though the rational part of my mind tells me I have no reason to feel that way now Father has gone.

"Watch where you're going!" I shout as someone suddenly strides around a bend in the corridor and straight into me.

"Maybe you should do the same," retorts a haughty voice, sounding very much like he's fighting the urge to add 'Do you have any idea who I am?'.

I know exactly who he is. I recognise him immediately and narrow my eyes at him just as quickly, stepping to the side to put myself in the way of the exit.

"What do you think you're doing here?"

"Cashmere?" he says, sounding genuinely surprised to see me.

"Yes, Miracle, unfortunately for you, it's me."

I stare unblinkingly across at him. The man my father had always wanted me to marry looks virtually unchanged from when I last saw him this close up, which was before I won the Games. His blue eyes look me slowly up and down, making me snarl at him in warning. I'm not that girl now and I'm determined to make sure he knows it.

"Answer me," I snap. "You have no business here."

"I've been visiting your sister," he replies smugly.

"Stay away from Satin," I hiss, dreading to think what the wealthiest non-Capitolian in the district could possibly want with her.

"She invited me," he says. "It would have been very rude of me not to accept her invitation."

"Even so," I tell him firmly, not wanting him snooping around here, "you wouldn't want to outstay your welcome. You know where the exit is."

He smirks arrogantly, deliberately brushing against me as he walks past.

As soon as he's vanished from sight I race down the corridor towards the office that was Father's and is now Satin's. It's totally unchanged, from the dark wood-panelled walls to the throne-like chair behind the equally huge desk. It brings back so many memories that I can't bear to be in there and rush straight back out. There's no point me staying anyway, because Satin isn't there.

* * *

Falco and I have to force our way past yet another crowd of visiting reporters from the Capitol when we get back to the Victor's Village, and once I push open the door to my house, I soon realise that I won't be able to escape the chaos by hiding inside. The loud laughter of Gloss's prep team hits me as soon as I step into the hallway. As soon as I try to go upstairs, Lucretia leans over the balcony and tells me not to.

"Lucretia, this is my house," I shout back. "I want to change my clothes."

"Don't worry, Cashmere," says another voice I recognise instantly. "Felix sent me to help you."

I send one final dirty look in the direction of my brother's stylist and turn my attention to Charis, who stands beside me, wringing her hands together and bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet in excitement. I can't help noticing that her hair is now bright red.

"Your hair is…interesting," I offer, not knowing what else to say as she grasps my hand and drags me towards the sitting room.

"It's wonderful, isn't it?" she gushes. "So many people have told me how much they like it and I'm attracting so much attention. I'd offer to do yours but you're so well known for your hair being the way it is that I'd never be allowed."

I smile, thinking how this is probably the first time since the Games that I'm happy to be so well known for my beauty in the Capitol.

"So what do you want to wear?" she continues, barely pausing for breath as usual. "Felix has done you another black and silver suit for District Twelve but there's no point putting you in that now because it takes so long to get there."

"I'm sure you've got something in mind," I tell her indulgently, almost hoping she'll keep talking so I don't have to. "Have you seen Gloss?" I prompt. "How is he?"

"He's upstairs with Lucretia," she says, making me have to struggle to resist the urge to point out that I'd worked that one out for myself. "He seemed so happy to see us this morning."

She does carry on talking, but once she says that I quickly realise I won't be getting anything out of her that will give me a true idea of how my brother really is and therefore stop listening. She pushes me ahead of her into the room and I stop so suddenly that she walks into me when I see Satin sitting in one of the armchairs by the window.

"I went to the workshop to find you," I tell her, my voice sounding almost accusatory. "You weren't there."

"Obviously," she replies, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I came to see Gloss but the Capitol people were already with him. Your friend here rescued me from being overwhelmed by pink lace and candy-floss perfume."

I raise my eyebrows. "Pink lace?"

"It's very fashionable in the Capitol," explains Charis. "Mariana, Jessamine and Oeneus are all wearing it."

"As long as Gloss isn't," I say dryly, smiling when I hear Satin's smothered laughter.

"Don't tease, Cashmere," replies Charis. "It isn't fair. Now, would you prefer blue or green?"

"Whichever you like," I tell her, shaking my head as she practically dances out of the room, unable to contain her excitement.

"She's lucky that this is just a little holiday for her," says Satin as I take a seat in the armchair opposite hers.

"She is, but I've got more important things to talk to you about than Charis. What in Panem was Miracle Lancaster doing at the workshop? He said he'd been to see you and that you'd invited him."

"It's none of your concern," she replies cagily. "He means our family no harm and that's all you need to know."

"It might be all I _need_ to know but it's certainly not all I _want _to know. What does he want with you?"

"We were discussing a…business proposition. It was my idea so you don't have to worry about him taking advantage of me," she adds with a wicked smirk.

"Satin!" I exclaim, hearing the innuendo behind her words.

She just laughs, and when she does, I realise I haven't heard her laugh for a very long time. I examine her more closely and see that she looks more relaxed and in control than she has done for years. I don't have the heart to push her any further so give my full attention to Charis as she bounds back in, her arms full of garment bags.

"How about this?" she says, holding up a shift dress that is neither blue nor green but bright scarlet red.

I nod, taking one look at it and knowing how it will attract attention, and more importantly, how it will draw that attention away from Gloss when we leave the house. "It's perfect."

"You might as well change here because you won't get anywhere near your room upstairs," she says. I exchange looks with Satin, who shrugs her shoulders amusedly. "And I almost forgot," Charis continues, turning to my sister. "Drusilla gave me this to give to you."

Satin takes the bag from Charis and pulls the zip open to reveal a black winter coat with a fur collar. It's sleeves and hem are covered in intricate silver embroidery and tiny diamonds. I smile to see that for once in her life, Satin is lost for words.

"Why?" she gasps eventually.

"She did it to practice the embroidery for one of Felix's designs for his catwalk show. She wasn't going to finish it but then she changed her mind. She said your old one's a disgrace and that you should burn it immediately. And also that she admires a woman who knows her own mind and she thought it would suit you, but if either of you see her then don't tell her I told you that bit or I'll be in so much trouble."

My sister says nothing but I can tell what Drusilla's gesture means to her from the look on her face. She averts her eyes as I change, and when I walk towards her to show her I'm decent once more, she's running her hand along the coat's collar, staring thoughtfully into the distance. Then her head snaps back up in response to Gloss striding into the room.

"At least it isn't pink lace," she says, her eyes scanning our brother's black suit, which is edged with a red that matches my dress.

"Are matching clothes mandatory?" I ask, turning to a very unashamed-looking Charis.

"Leave her alone, Cash," interrupts Gloss. "You look good."

"So do you," I say, walking across to him and reaching up to straighten his tie. "I told you I'd be back, didn't I?"

"I never really doubted you."

"I should think not," I reply, hugging him tightly in a way that makes Charis dive forwards and screech pleadingly at me not to crease him before we even leave the house.

He grins at me before turning to Satin. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you before you left. But I didn't realise the style team takeover would be quite so…pervasive."

Charis catches my eye and her confused expression makes me smile. I take pity on her and ask her to find me a pair of shoes to match my dress. When I tell her that I'm sure nobody would choose quite as well as her, she beams at me and races away. By the time I turn my attention back to Gloss, he is now standing in front of Satin's chair.

"Don't let them defeat you, little brother. Don't you dare let them see you're hurting, no matter what happens."

He whispers something to her that I can't quite hear and then looks back at me, smiling sadly. "Is it time?"

I nod just as the door opens and Falco appears, holding a pair of gold shoes. I'm standing in front of him before I really realise I'd moved and he raises his hand to straighten the thin strap of my dress as he tells me we have to go now. Gloss hugs Satin and the bewildered expression that appears on her usually perfectly schooled face amuses me as much as ever, but then I'm abruptly serious again as Falco opens the door and we move into the corridor.

Satin pulls on her new coat, looking proudly down at it before following Gloss and I to the door. In the not too distant past I think I would have said something to drive her away, but when she looks questioningly across at me I just smile and throw open the front door. The three of us walk out of my house together and the response from the reporters and camera crews is instantaneous.

And so it begins again.

* * *

**I don't have much to say other than my usual thanks to those of you who reviewed :) I didn't hear from a lot of you last time but I hope you're still reading... ;) Special thanks to Kellyann - I'm flattered :)**


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

It sounds stupid to me even though I'm the one thinking it, but despite all we've been through, the first time I truly realise how much the Games have affected my brother is when we get to District Twelve. When I was a tribute I knew as much as I could find out about my allies and my most serious competitors and as little as possible about all the rest, but I soon found out Gloss didn't share my approach. He knows every detail.

He knows the names, ages and as much about the backgrounds as he's ever going to know of every single tribute who went into the arena with him. He knows how the boy tribute from the coal district's father had died in a mining accident, how his female counterpart left behind parents grieving the loss of their only child. All I can do is stare speechlessly at him as he tells me all of this, wondering how he had kept it hidden inside him for all these months.

Nothing changes as we make our way around Panem, a new district every day just like I did this time last year. Gloss knows them all, and it seems to me like he mourns them all as well, not as a group like I did but as individuals.

When we arrive in District Eleven he's more like himself. He jokes about how he should live there because it's so hot that even he wouldn't be cold. However he is quieter in District Ten and quieter still in Nine. Seeing him like that makes me wonder how long he'll be able to take the pressure.

However District Eight puts me more on edge than it does him. There is a man visiting from the Capitol and I'd recognise his yellow, feline eyes anywhere. I don't know how I manage to walk past him on the stage, how I keep silent when Falco asks me what's wrong over and over again, never satisfied with my response.

I do it for Gloss, because he has enough to deal with without knowing he's sitting at a dinner table opposite the man who raped me. I do it for Falco as well, because I know that if I tell him the truth then he won't be able to help himself. I don't think the heart attack explanation will work as well if it's used for a second time.

Gloss seems better in District Seven. The same man who'd told Falco and me tales of the old District Seven on the way to my ceremony last year is there again and he does the same for my brother. Gloss is relaxed and I am grateful. It takes his mind off what is to come next.

District Six is as bad as I thought it would be. The parents of Marisa, the girl tribute killed by her own district partner, stand as far from Titus's mother as they can. The atmosphere is so thick with hatred and grief that I feel like I could cut through it with the dagger I have strapped to my arm.

When I wake up the following morning we are already pulling into the District Five station. Falco lies on my one side and Gloss on the other, both of them holding me so tightly that I can hardly breathe. My brother is still shaking, unable to break free of the nightmares the Tour brought back, but when I wake him he says nothing. I don't know what to say to him either, not when I know it will only get harder.

* * *

I always knew District Four would be the hardest for Gloss to deal with and I am proved right as soon as we step off the train and take our first breath of the salty air. It feels different and I know exactly why. We're hated here, me for killing Marcia and Octavian and Gloss for killing Nicon when he was so close to winning, and right from the start I can feel that hatred.

Every single last person in the square of the main town is silent when the mayor makes the presentation, and it's an angry silence, just like I remember from when I went to District Seven last year but ten times worse. Not even their beloved Mags can win them over, and they remain deadly quiet even when she hobbles onto the stage to present Gloss with a plaque she can barely lift.

Now as we walk into the same massive banquet room I walked into this time last year, I shiver and keep watching Gloss, trying to ignore how everybody stares at me because I know I've brought it all on myself.

I say that because of the dress I'm wearing. I knew I wouldn't want to wear it but I had Felix make it anyway, knowing it would come to this when we got here. It's as golden and sparkling as the dress I wore to the Opening Ceremony before my Games, and though it's as tasteful as my stylist could make it, the split in the fabric is almost to my hip and the plunging neckline is so low I have to force myself not to keep trying to pull it higher.

Those who care about the reason we are here tonight will be offended by how inappropriate it is and those who don't will be watching my every move and either wondering how much Snow would want for me or wasting their time dreaming. However even though I hate it, I'm wearing it for a very good reason. If they're looking at me then they won't be focussed on Gloss. I didn't want to wear it but I'd do anything for my little brother, and if this is what it takes to detract some of the attention from him then I'll do it.

I walk further into the room even though all I really want to do is run away, gazing around in search of my brother. To start with I can't find him, but just as I start to panic I see him, standing in the middle of a group of so-called visitors from the Capitol as they talk loudly around him. His eyes meet mine and I move towards him, reading from his expression how much he's silently pleading for a way out.

"We meet again, Miss de Montfort," says a voice I recognise enough to instinctively shrink away in response as a hand grasps my arm.

"Unfortunately we do," I reply scathingly as I spin around to face the Capitolian man who propositioned me last time I was here. It feels like a lifetime ago. "But you obviously have a much shorter memory than I because I distinctly remember telling you not to touch me."

I jerk my arm away and step back. He sneers in response and pushes me to the side, catching me off guard and jerking a curtain out of the way so I don't fall into it. I narrow my eyes at him at the same time as scanning the small alcove around me, wondering why I didn't at least notice the curtains and guess the reason they were there. I'm furious with myself because I should have done, especially as many of the old ballrooms back home have them too. People like my father use concealed rooms like these to discuss business they wish to keep private with their co-conspirators.

"It's disappointing you have that attitude, Cashmere," he says. "President Snow assured me you'd keep me company tonight so it's a shame to have started off so badly."

My mind reels so much at his words that I just stand there staring at him. Could it be true? Did Snow really say that? Did this repulsive man really purchase me? I'm too dumbstruck to move because part of me thinks it's possible, and even the thought of…no, it can't be true. Falco would have known. He wouldn't have let it happen. It can't be true, it can't be.

I turn away, knowing that forcing my way back into the main room will involve pushing past the man who currently blocks my escape. I don't want to get that close to him. It's bad enough seeing his smug face in the mirror I find myself looking into so I immediately refocus my eyes onto my own reflection. That's when something occurs to me that will at least tell me the truth even if it can't get me out of here.

"I'm not sure about this outfit," I say, forcing my voice to sound light and carefree, "I think it needs a little something extra, don't you? How about a rose to put in my hair? White would go nicely, I think."

I breathe what I'm sure must be a visible sigh of relief at the confused look that suddenly appears on the man's face. He hasn't got a clue what I'm talking about, and that means the president knows nothing of this.

I take another deep breath and turn around again, ready to give the man a piece of my mind and tell him exactly what he can do, when all of a sudden he is no longer there but is flying across the alcove into the wall behind me. Once he's landed with a crash which makes me relieved the music and talking in the main room is so loud, I look away from him to the other figure now inhabiting this tiny, confined space. I hardly recognise him as he brushes past me to stand over my fallen assailant.

I have never once feared my brother, but as I watch him approach the man and kick him in the stomach hard enough to make him gasp for breath, I am almost afraid. I see not the man I know and love but the man I caught glimpses of when he was in the arena, a man who is as powerful and lethal as he is ruthless and unforgiving. The man who killed Theodorus. He reaches down and grabs the man by his shirt collar, literally lifting him up off the floor.

"If you touch her again then I'll make you wish you were dead, do you understand me?" he snarls, glaring into the other man's eyes, their faces only inches apart.

"Gloss, I'm fine," I say, gently resting my hand on my brother's arm. "Just let it go, please."

"I'll let it go once it promises me it will never look at you again," he growls, deliberately misinterpreting my words. "Do you swear it?" he continues, turning back to the man whose weight he's still supporting.

"Yes, I swear it," wheezes the man, struggling to breathe with Gloss's hand tight at his throat.

My brother throws him to the ground before pushing me behind him, putting himself between the Capitolian man and me. I'm so close that I can feel how much he's trembling with rage, which is why I grasp his arm when the man speaks again.

"You should learn your place, boy," he says. "Perhaps I should tell the president you need teaching."

"If you knew the president then you wouldn't have spent so long in a place like this," I say before Gloss can speak. "Exiled, were you? Disgraced? What did you do? Or are you too ashamed to say?"

The man pulls himself to his feet with considerable effort, his hand clutching his stomach where Gloss had kicked him. "You'll regret this. Both of you."

"Not half as much as you will," snaps Gloss, jerking his arm from my grip and punching the man square in the jaw. He falls to the ground and this time he doesn't get up.

"Gloss, come on," I say eventually, dragging my eyes away from the unconscious man. He could be dead for all I know. "We can't be found here. We have to go."

I push my brother out of the alcove first, telling him to move away as quickly as he can without drawing attention to himself. A couple of minutes that feel like a lifetime later, I step out from behind the curtain as well. I walk straight into Gloss.

"What part of 'move away' didn't you understand?" I whisper as he takes my arm and leads me through the crowds of people into the hallway I escaped to when I was here last year. "You shouldn't have done that. He's Capitol, Gloss. Have you any idea how much trouble you could be in when he wakes up and tells everyone else what happened?"

"What's he going to say, Cash? For all the wrong reasons, it's true, but I don't think our esteemed leader would like it if he knew what could have happened," he replies, the transformation back to his normal calm and rational self so sudden that I almost think I imagined what I just witnessed back in that alcove.

"You still shouldn't have done it."

"Yes, I should," he says firmly. "And I'll do it again. As many times as I have to."

"Gloss, this is reality. Men from the Capitol think I'm a commodity to be bought and sold. You can't threaten to kill all of them."

"Says who?" he replies, taking off his jacket and draping it over my shoulders. I pull it around myself gratefully. "I know why you wore that dress, Cashmere, and I don't ever want you to do that for me again."

"I can do what I like," I reply with a teasing half-smile. "If you can punch everyone who looks at me in a way you don't like then I can distract the masses with my overwhelmingly stunning beauty if I choose to."

"They won't see your beauty because they'll be too distracted by your modesty, sister mine," he retorts sarcastically, laughing as he puts his arm around me and we reluctantly walk back towards the ballroom.

At exactly the same moment, one of the side doors by the staircase swings open and two people, a man and a woman, stride out. They are temporarily too distracted by their seemingly fierce argument to notice Gloss and I, but that doesn't last long, and very soon the man stops mid-sentence as they both pause to stare. It takes a couple of seconds for me to place their familiar faces, and when I do I immediately step forwards, putting myself between them and Gloss.

"What are you doing out here?" asks Nicon's father, his voice dripping with venom as he looks straight over my head at Gloss. "Shouldn't you be enjoying _your _party?"

"Leave it. Let's go," says the woman, who is tall, strong-looking and nothing like her daughter, in appearance at least.

"It's easy for you to say, isn't it?" her companion hisses back. "You're not staring at your Pelagia's murderer."

"No, I'm not," she snaps. "I'm staring at his father instead."

Gloss tries to move me out of the way as Nicon's father is temporarily silenced, but I stubbornly stand my ground, refusing to let him past. Eventually he stops fighting me but his hands remain on my upper arms. I can feel how much he's trembling, though whether it's out of rage like it was before, grief, or a mixture of the two, I couldn't possibly guess.

"I did what I had to do," he whispers. "I can't tell you how much I wish things had been different."

"That makes two of us, boy," replies Nicon's father, finding his voice again now he's no longer looking at Pelagia's mother. "I spend every minute of every day wishing you had died in that arena and I always will."

Gloss's hands fall from my arms as he jerks back as if the man opposite us had struck him physically rather than with words. I turn and reach for him but he pulls away and races out through the entrance doors. I call after him but he doesn't stop.

Shaking my head to myself, I sigh and head off in the same direction. Panem knows what will happen to him if he starts wandering alone around the streets of District Four when feelings are so against us because of what happened in the arena.

* * *

When I find him he's sitting on a bench and staring out across the ocean, apparently oblivious to the freezing cold air blowing back into his face. It isn't easy to be silent on the strange gravel pathway so I'm sure he must hear me approaching but he doesn't respond.

"Gloss?" I whisper softly when I reach the back of the bench. I want to touch him but I make myself keep my hands fixed by my sides. "Gloss, please."

"Go away, Cash," he replies, his voice so half-hearted that I'm sure even he must realise how unconvincing he sounds. "Leave me alone."

"No," I say flatly, mirroring my words from the last time I saw him lose control like this.

"Come here then," he says, reaching around to drag me in front of him before pulling me down onto the bench beside him, wrapping me tightly in his arms. "I lent my jacket to my cruel and demanding big sister and now I'm cold without it."

I smile sadly at his teasing, lifting my arms up so I can pull the thick black material around me before pushing closer to him so he can share its warmth.

"I told you before," I say eventually, "you did what you had to do to survive. You can't constantly beat yourself up about it when Nicon would have done the same if you hadn't won the fight. He'd have killed you to get home. Don't ever doubt that."

"But that man still has no son because of me," he replies.

"And if you hadn't done what you did then I'd have no brother, so I'll always partly be glad Nicon didn't come home."

"I still killed him, Cash. When I volunteered I didn't think it would hurt like this."

"Yes, you did," I say. "Deep down you always knew it. You knew it in a way that Sapphire and I never did, and yet you volunteered anyway. Because of me."

"Yes, because of you. Because of what they did to you. And now you won't have to go to the Capitol on your own."

"Falco told me he talked to you. About the Capitol, I mean."

"I told him not to say anything," replies Gloss, and I can feel him shaking his head.

"Doesn't matter," I say with a smirk, trying to make him laugh. "Where Falco is concerned, I have my ways of making sure I always get the truth in the end."

"Please, Cashmere, do remember you're my sister. That's way too much information."

"Made you smile though, didn't it?" I reply, turning in his arms so I have space to look up at him. He smiles back before his expression becomes serious again.

"I told him to leave it because I really don't care," he says impassively. "It only means something if I let it. If I don't let it mean anything to me then it's just sex. It's just biology and nothing more. Snow can do what he likes with my body but that doesn't mean he has my mind."

His words sound so like what I used to tell myself as a way of getting through the days straight after I returned home following my Tour that it's suddenly me who is crying and upset rather than him. He holds me close and I curl up against him, and he's so painfully familiar that it almost feels like I can't decide how to react. The part of me which is still upset by his words wants to keep crying but the other part is soothed just by being with him.

"Only three more train journeys and then we'll be going home," he says.

Somewhere in the back of my mind there's a voice telling me that it should be me saying that to him and not the other way around.

* * *

We made it to District Three without incident despite the obvious hatred felt by the crowd who gathered to see us leave Four, and our time in the factory district passed swiftly. When we arrived in District Two we were running late so they took us straight to the ceremony in the main square. It was easier than last year, especially as I couldn't help thinking that if I can face Astraea like I did this time last year then I can face virtually anything a Victory Tour could throw at me.

Surprisingly they show us not to the usual set of rooms in the Town Hall but to one of the houses in the Victor's Village, which looks exactly like the one back home. I look around and wonder which one belongs to who but I can't tell because there is nobody else around. If it was District One then most of the curtains would be twitching, but this is District Two so there is nothing.

When the Capitol people finally leave us alone after reminding us what time Gloss's style team will be back to get us ready for tonight's banquet for what must be the thousandth time, we sit in the kitchen talking of inconsequential things until my brother says he's going upstairs to sleep. About ten minutes later I can hear him crying out. His nightmares have started again. I go up to the bedroom and sit with him, knowing by now that my presence is one of the few things that chases the bad dreams away.

* * *

I go back downstairs to the kitchen once Gloss has finally fallen into what appears to be a peaceful sleep, still shocked by how much this house looks like my own. It makes sense that it would, I suppose, as the Capitol built all the Victor's Villages at the same time and to the same design, but when I look out of the window I still almost expect to see my own garden and am surprised when I don't.

However what I do see is a small figure appear on the top of the fence and drop gracefully down to land on this side. The child pauses for a while, lifting her head to the bright winter sun with her eyes scrunched tightly closed, and then she makes her way towards the bottom of the garden. Curious, I watch her progress, walking over to the patio doors and throwing them wide open despite the cold.

She turns back at the noise and sees me instantly, dropping into a low crouch as if she's about to flee. I step towards her so she can see my face clearly, so she can see I'm no threat to her, and she stands slightly straighter, still distrustful but not as ready to run. We stare at each other motionlessly for several minutes before I take another step, and I almost jump back myself when she does the same, seeming to make up her mind instantly as she runs towards me and stops only a couple of paces away.

I gasp when I see her face clearly because I know who she is immediately. She looks so much like her mother that there's only one person she could be, and I'd know her even if I hadn't seen a slightly younger version on Achillea's video.

"Hello, Velia."

"How do you know my name?"

"I know your mother," I reply, wondering where Ursala is and how her daughter ended up in the garden of the house the Capitol people assigned to my brother and I.

"I'm learning to fight like Mother," she says, her voice even and serious for such a young-looking child. She must be nine years old but she looks little older than seven.

"Why?"

She shrugs her narrow shoulders. "I thought she wanted me to play the game in the Capitol, but I asked her and she doesn't. She says I have to…be able to stand up for myself," she continues, struggling with the sentence as she clearly repeats her mother's words, "but I don't really know what that means. Nobody does anything bad to me."

I bet they don't, I think. Not when they know they'll feel the full force of your mother's wrath if they do.

"Why doesn't she want you to play the game in the Capitol, Velia?" I ask, knowing I shouldn't take advantage of the girl's extreme youth and innocence but somehow remaining unable to resist, my curiosity getting the better of me as usual.

"I don't know. She says I'm too pretty to play the Capitol's games, but she did and she's pretty. So are you."

The true meaning of Ursala's words are nowhere near as lost on me as they are on her daughter, and for a moment I stare blankly down at the girl, completely lost for words.

"I'm sure your mother knows what's best for you," I manage eventually, and it sounds inadequate even to my own ears.

"Velia!" barks a very familiar voice, and I'm ashamed to say I jump almost as much as the child opposite me as she spins around instantly. "Oh, Cashmere, it's you," continues Ursala in a much calmer voice as she appears on the other side of the fence. "I couldn't see who she was talking to."

"It's only me," I reply dryly, returning her smile, surprised by how pleased I am to see her.

"Did they put you there?" she asks, looking behind me at the house.

I nod. "Only until the banquet tonight. Then we'll be going to the Capitol," I say, trying not to think of that.

"Do you want to come in?" she asks, gesturing back to the house that must be hers, seeming to sense how uncomfortable I suddenly am. "Velia, come back here. Right now," she adds, pointing imperiously to her side of the fence.

The little girl obeys instantly, jumping lithely up and over to stand by her mother's side. Ursala pulls her close and the look on Velia's face tells me how much she is loved. She knows it despite the harsh words, or perhaps because of them. I've seen enough of this place to know that what would seem overprotective in District One is considered only sensible and reasonable here.

I nod and walk cautiously up to the half-height fence, pulling myself up and over it well enough but without Velia's effortless grace. Ursala returns my nod and goes back into the house, guiding her daughter in front of her and not saying a word.

My house is full of things, both those bought in District One and those brought back from the Capitol, but Ursala's house is a complete contrast. Most of the furniture that was put into the place when it was built has been taken out, replaced by plainer, more practical-looking pieces that have never seen the Capitol.

"I have to live in their house but there's no law that says I can't have my own furniture," she says, looking at me as if she knows what I'm thinking.

"I'm sure there must be one somewhere," I reply with a smile, following her into the sitting room. "How have you been?"

"Busy," she says cagily, collapsing onto one side of the sofa and leaning against the arm.

"Mother's been to the Capitol lots of times since Meg died," adds Velia as she lies down and puts her head on Ursala's lap. "I don't like it when she goes away."

"But I'm back really quickly, aren't I?" replies Ursala, her voice tightening slightly as her hand moves almost subconsciously to stroke her daughter's hair. "You hardly know I'm gone."

"Wish you didn't go at all," whispers Velia sleepily, shuffling closer to her mother before her eyes drift closed. "And you do."

I look across at Ursala but it's several seconds before she can meet my eyes.

"You have some interesting friends, Cashmere," she says, suddenly the sharp and focussed woman I remember from the Control Room once more. "They alluded to some interesting things."

"I can imagine," I reply, instinctively knowing she means that someone linked to Achillea has been talking to her. I didn't think the leader of the almost-rebellion would move so quickly but it seems she's surprised me yet again. "And?"

She shrugs her shoulders noncommittally rather than saying anything out loud, once more confirming an intelligence I already knew she possessed. She looks pointedly down at Velia as she sleeps and I don't need words to help me understand her meaning. She'll give her allegiance to nobody but the little girl beside her, who is too young to even begin to truly understand how precarious life in Panem can be.

When it becomes clear she isn't going to say anything else, I also watch the girl. Her almost-black hair is long like Ursala's and her skin is the same light olive tone, but when I look more closely at her face I can see how her features are slightly softer than her mother's. I don't dare ask if that's just because of her youth or because she takes after her father, who is someone I've never asked my friend about. I don't pry when she doesn't volunteer information and she returns the favour. It's better that way when I consider what would happen to me and to those I love if the identity of my lover became common knowledge.

"You teach her to fight?" I ask, the sight of the small knife on the table abruptly making me remember Velia's earlier words.

"Of course. If she can't look after herself then she'll last five minutes. My name protects her now but when she grows older it will do the opposite. Every would-be-tribute in the Training Centre will want a go at the Victor's daughter. It's for her own good."

I can believe her words are truthful and justified, but at the same time I can't help thinking she's trying to convince herself as much as she is me. It's that which makes me decide she'd side against the current government if it were to ever come to that and so I'm glad to hear it. I wouldn't want Ursala and I to be on different sides.

"But she says you've told her you don't want her to become a tribute."

"She told you that? Why?"

"I asked her."

She's silent for several minutes, still mindlessly stroking Velia's hair as she sleeps. When she eventually speaks again her voice is so quiet that I have to strain to hear her words.

"I teach her to fight because I have to, but the last thing I want is for her to end up like me. And yet I can't see how she'll get the chance to be anything different."

"There are worse things to be than like you, Ursala."

"Really?" she says, speaking with incredulity that sounds completely genuine. "And what am I good for, Cashmere? Fighting and precious little else. Unless you count lying on my back in the Capitol."

"And why do you do that?" I retort immediately.

"Because I have no choice."

"And why is that?"

"Because of her," she replies, looking down at the little girl beside her. "Because I never wanted her but now she's everything."

"My mother never knew how to love me, Ursala, so I don't claim to know much about mothers and their daughters, but if you ask me then doing what you must so you can keep her safe means you're good for a lot more than what you seem to think."

She smiles faintly but she doesn't speak, and we sit in a comfortable silence for several minutes. If this had been District One and she'd been the one visiting me then I know I'd feel the need to rush around and make her tea, offer her food or find some other way of making a fuss to be polite. However she does none of these things and simply sits with me, her hand still stroking Velia's hair as she dozes lightly by her side. I'm surprised to find I prefer her way.

I jump when the door slowly swings open, immediately on edge, and when I look across at the sofa, I see Ursala and Velia are both alert as well. However they look as relaxed as they ever do and the young girl dives away, disappearing through the now open doorway and returning triumphantly a couple of seconds later, dragging someone who is abruptly very familiar to me behind her. Astraea.

She looks as shocked to see me as I am to see her, and we stare at each other in silence. She looks exactly as she did that night during my Victory Tour when she broke into my room and told me she didn't blame me for her husband's death. Her black hair still cascades down her back like it did then and her dark brown eyes are still just as haunted.

She wears the black uniform which had confused me so much when I'd seen so many of the people in the crowd wearing it when I was here before. The uniform of what she'd called the mountain fortress, of what Falco later described as the Capitol's main defence centre outside the big city. The name badge sewn onto her collar reads 'Rossetti' rather than 'Bellafonte' and she still wears her wedding ring.

"I apologise for Astraea," says Ursala, clearly trying to ease the tension in the room. "I've told her many times that she's allowed to use the front door but she insists on climbing in through the bathroom window."

Astraea laughs at her former mentor. "I don't want to lose my edge, do I?" she replies. "And it's best I'm not seen coming and going from the Victor's Village too often."

She crosses the room to stand closer to me, still moving with the cat-like grace I hadn't forgotten.

"Hello, Cashmere."

I still don't know what to say. Seeing her brings memories of the arena flooding back. Seeing her makes me think of Corvinus, my ally who saved my life on more than one occasion for a reason I can't begin to work out even a year and a half later.

"It's alright," she says, sitting down beside me. "I have a good job and I can look after myself. I can manage."

Like Ursala did when she was talking about teaching Velia to fight, she sounds like she's trying to convince herself more than she's trying to convince me. I can tell from her voice that she grieves as much as she ever did.

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

"They put Gloss and I in the house next door."

She nods. "The protective little brother," she says musingly. "He did a real number on our man in the arena."

"You don't sound too disappointed."

"I knew Theodorus from the Training Centre. I challenged him to a fight in the Arena once," she continues, looking expectantly at me as if she thinks her words will make everything clear to me. They don't. "He pushed me too far one day. It was either that or let him face Corvinus."

"And why didn't you?"

"Corvinus would have killed him. Then Vikus would have punished him. Theodorus wasn't worth it."

"The Arena's where the trainees fight when they really mean it," interjects Ursala. "And it's where they burn the bodies of the tributes who don't win."

She reaches for the collar of Velia's tunic, wrapping her hand around the silver chain that hangs around the girl's neck. A district token. I realise that just as I catch a glimpse of the name etched into it before Velia snatches it away and races towards the door at the sound of the bell ringing. 'Megaera Domani', the girl killed by the boy who's life my brother took when he won the Games. It really is true what I said that night in the Capitol when I first appeared on the Flickerman Show. It never ends.

"She picked it up off the Arena floor," whispers Ursala. "They usually melt them down to make more. That's the Training Centre way. But Velia was too quick for them. I've tried to make her take it off but she won't."

I'm about to respond when the door flies open again and Velia bounds back in, returning to her place by her mother's side. Astraea, who had gone after the girl when she left, follows more sedately behind, leading a boy who looks curiously at me before his vivid dark-blue eyes settle on Ursala. He could be any age between ten and fourteen. I can't guess more accurately as he has the look and bearing of one of this place's tributes already and I suspect he appears older than he is because of it.

"I suppose you're here doing Vikus's bidding," says Ursala softly.

"For now," says the boy, speaking with more bitterness and resentment than anyone his age should be able to claim. "But not forever."

"What did he tell you to tell me, Cato?"

"That the Capitol people want you at Pretty-Boy's banquet," he replies, making me struggle unsuccessfully to stifle my laughter.

"Who are you?" he asks, turning to me without the merest hint of fear. "You're not from here."

"I'm Pretty-Boy's sister," I reply flatly.

For a split second his eyes widen ever so slightly but he says nothing, only looking away when Velia stands up and takes a step towards him. From what little I've seen of children, most respond to other children in a totally different way to how they would to an adult, but this boy's expression doesn't change. To her credit, Velia doesn't step back, but she doesn't move forward again either.

When Gloss was that age he would probably have been staring down at his feet and dragging his hand nervously through his hair in a situation like this, but the boy Ursala called Cato displays no such weakness. He shrugs his shoulders at my fellow Victor, standing tall and straight, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Tell him I'll be there," she says, nodding at the door in dismissal.

"He said to tell him if you said no," replies Cato. "As you didn't then he can find out for himself."

"Your wounds have only just healed from last time you didn't do as you were told, Cato. You're smarter than that."

"He wants me in the Capitol. He won't kill me."

As soon as his last word leaves his lips, the boy leaves the room without a backward glance. I exchange glances with Astraea but she says nothing.

"I don't think I want to know what happened to that boy, do I?" I ask, looking at Ursala this time.

"Probably not," she replies. "I don't know that much myself. He was a street child who Vikus somehow ended up taking in. I dread to think why."

"It certainly wasn't out of the kindness of his heart," adds Astraea. "Not if the boy's face is anything to go by. Corvinus used to say that if Cato survived to reach his nineteenth birthday then Vikus had better be watching his back."

"I can believe that," I say. "I think your most famous Victor might regret that decision one day."

* * *

When I woke up the following morning after yet another torturous banquet, my first thought was that I wanted to go to the station with Gloss, but it soon became clear that the Capitol people weren't going to let me. He has to arrive last, they said, there has to be the opportunity to photograph him alone as well as with his support team. His support team? I'm his sister not just part of his support team, and surely they can see they'll sell more newspapers in the morning if my brother and I are on the front page together?

However it didn't matter what I said or even what Gloss said as he gripped my wrist so tightly that I don't think the creases he left in the sleeve of my metallic silver coat will ever come out, they still wouldn't let us leave the house in the Victor's Village together. And that is how I come to be alone and pulling myself out of yet another car outside yet another station. I don't like it. The District Two station looks nothing like the one back home, but I still know I'm going back to the Capitol and when I think about that I can't push my nightmares away.

I can hear the noise of the crowd gathered inside the station from here, and they're spilling out onto the road outside, craning their necks to stare at me as I try desperately to look like I'm happy to be here. I gaze around, knowing it's easier to maintain the pretence if I don't focus in one direction for too long. The camera crews are here but they're not filming yet. They won't start until Gloss arrives, but that doesn't give them enough reason to leave me alone. I don't know where to wait but there has to be somewhere. There must be.

I instinctively step away when a garishly dressed man with a microphone reaches for me, obviously preparing to launch into his first question, seemingly unable to believe his luck that he's got this close. Then someone else grasps my arm and pulls me along the road. It looks like it leads around the back of the station, so when I recognise my rescuer, I don't protest.

"Why aren't you with your brother? Or your…_Capitol escort_?" says Ursala, saying Falco's official title in a way that tells me she knows he's a lot more than that to me.

"Gloss is still at the house. He has to arrive later. I don't know where Falco's gone," I reply, not quite telling her the whole truth because I know he's doing something for Achillea even though I don't know exactly what. "What are you doing here anyway?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know really. I just wanted to… I don't know."

"Say goodbye?" I say teasingly. "The fearsome Victor from District Two isn't admitting to being friends with vain and shallow little me from District One, is she?"

"Don't push your luck, de Montfort," she replies, trying unsuccessfully not to smile.

She pushes open a door which is a lot smaller than the grand ones at the main station entrance and we walk into the building. It's full of people but for now they're not looking at us. I think they're still expecting me to come in through the front doors and though I know it won't last for long, I smile at the smug look on Ursala's face as she makes her way through the crowd, blending in a lot more than I do.

Then she abruptly stops dead, every muscle in her body tensing, her arms at her sides and her hands clenched into tight fists. She's staring at something on the other side of the vast room, and when I get close enough to see what it is, I'm surprised to see a man and a small boy.

"What is it? Ursala?"

"Nothing," she snaps, suddenly returning to herself a couple of minutes later. "It doesn't matter. Come on," she continues, grabbing my already much-abused coat sleeve and dragging me towards the platform.

People have started to notice us now, so it's impossible for me to ask her anything else until we reach the line of Peacekeepers who surround the train. Most of the mob won't go near them so when we get close we get a bit more space. Once the Capitol officials reassure themselves I'm where I should be, they leave us alone as well.

"Who was that man, Ursala?"

"Mind your own business," she snarls.

"Who is he?" I reply, refusing to be daunted by her attitude.

"Velia's father," she says quietly.

I'm not surprised even though I could see nothing of my friend's vivacious little daughter in the man who was arrogantly looking down at everyone around him like they weren't quite good enough.

"And the boy?"

"My Velia's half-brother. Not that she'll ever know it."

"Ursala, what happened? Why did everything end so badly?"

She looks long and hard at me before shaking her head with a strange mixture of anger and sadness. "I thought I loved him so I told him what I have to do when I go to the Capitol because I couldn't bear him not knowing. He hated me for it. He said it was my fault and that made me hate him. He says Velia isn't his and refuses to have anything to do with her. But she is his. I know she is."

"I'm sorry," I tell her, not knowing what else to say.

"Don't be," she replies fiercely. "He made his choice a long time ago and I made mine. She's my daughter. Not his. Mine."

I nod and am about to reply when the buzz from the crowd gets louder. I guess that the well-to-do of the district who have the job of ceremonially escorting Gloss onto the train bound for the Capitol have arrived, because everyone surges away from us and towards the main entrance. I barely notice the sound of a child shouting over the rest of the noise, but Ursala spins around to face the direction it's coming from as soon as it starts, a knife in her hand I didn't see her reach for. Her expression is suddenly more deadly than I've ever seen it.

"What?" I say, tensing in response to her.

The next thing I know, she visibly relaxes and puts the knife back up her sleeve, her eyes flicking to me and then away again. She says nothing but steps forwards. I tense again when I see Tiberius striding towards her, feeling as shocked as my friend to see him supporting a viciously struggling Velia on his shoulder.

"I think this belongs to you," he says to Ursala, taking a firm grip on the back of the girl's tunic and lifting her down, holding her out in mid-air to her mother with one hand like she weighs nothing. "I also think it's safer for all concerned if you stay together."

Ursala grasps Velia's arm and yanks her to her side. "What do you think you're doing here? When I tell you to stay in the house I expect you to stay in the house, do you understand?"

She barely speaks above a whisper but she doesn't have to. There is such force behind her words that I take a step back, almost fighting the urge to promise that I won't leave the house either. However it seems Velia has heard it all before.

"I looked for you and you'd gone. I thought you'd gone to the Capitol again."

"And if I had then you know better than to come here after me."

"I thought you'd forgotten this," says the little girl, her voice trembling with tears she seems to have already learned not to shed as she holds out her hand. "You never go there without it."

Ursala takes the piece of blue fabric from her daughter with a shaking hand before smoothing it out and folding it. Then she grips both the cloth and Velia like she's never going to let go. I look away as I wait for my friend to control her emotions, not wanting her to see me staring.

"It's part of the blanket she wrapped the girl in when she was born," says Tiberius, his voice suddenly reminding me of his presence. "She says it helps her focus on what she's fighting for."

Now he's said that, I remember noticing it tied around Ursala's wrist when I saw her outside the Training Centre after Gloss's Games. I feel a surge of hatred for President Snow so strong I'm surprised it isn't visible.

"Why are you here?" I ask, looking up at Tiberius. He hasn't got any less intimidating and now we're no longer both focussed on Ursala, he still looks at me like he wants to kill me.

"To make sure you and your little brother have left my district."

"Your district?" I reply. "I don't think it's yours, Silvestri."

He moves closer to me and I don't step away, tilting my head back so I can hold his gaze. He steps forwards again and out of the corner of my eye I see Ursala reach out to put her hand on his arm.

"Leave it," she whispers. "Not here."

He snarls and narrows his eyes at me before leaning down to whisper in my ear. The words I hear aren't what I expected.

"Tell your lover to say I'll do it."

I do step back then, more so I can see him properly than for any other reason, realising instantly that he ultimately wants the message to reach Achillea. I nod once and he immediately turns and walks away.

I want to shout after him but I don't get chance to. The next second I'm swept away from all of them as the Capitol officials and Peacekeepers surround me. It's time, they say, and I look over my shoulder to see Gloss and Falco making their way through the crowd. This is it. Only the Capitol left and it will be over. I just wish I could feel we were over the worst. But how can I when I know from experience that the worst is yet to come?

* * *

_**Don't take this the wrong way but I'm starting to have a confidence crisis - I used to have nearly twenty people who reviewed when I posted a chapter and now I'm struggling to get ten. Are you all still out there somewhere?**_

_**And thanks to those of you who always comment - I am in no way implying your reviews aren't enough, I'm just curious to know why so many of my reviewers have suddenly disappeared all at once! **_


	22. Chapter 22

**_Thank you so much for all of the reviews I had last week - I apologise for my lack of confidence but I can't help it. I've always been the same... It's so nice to know that you're all still out there and that you'll review when you can (iPhone permitting for some of you, I know ;)! _**

**_Even though it's nothing compared to Chapters 5 and 6, I should probably say that this one needs the rating because of language and usual Hunger Games/Mockingjay-related themes. And now I've said that you can read the penultimate chapter..._**

Chapter Twenty-Two

Whoever named this place was either stupid, ignorant, or a combination of the two. Knowing the Capitol as I do, I would bet on the latter. It looks pretty, of course, like virtually everything visible does here, but as I stare around at the brightly coloured pictures lining the walls that depict scenes I'm convinced only exist in books like those that fill the study in Falco's apartment, I know I'm only doing so in an attempt to avoid having to acknowledge the true reality. The neon sign above the door calls this place 'Paradise', but I can say with absolute certainty that this place is no paradise, not for those like me anyway.

I make my way across the crowded room as best as I can, trying not to accidentally touch any of the masses of Capitolians who fill the space. It's no easy task when they're everywhere I look, gathering in groups around tables full of vividly coloured drinks or swaying together in time to the monotonous and never ceasing noise that seems to pass for music here. A lot of them stop what they're doing when they see me. Of course they do. I'm a Hunger Games Victor. I'm not one of them but I'm a celebrity. They don't think it matters that I wish I wasn't.

I've never been here before, although I know lots of the other Victors have. If they speak of it at all then they speak of it with as much dread as the Capitolians do delight. It isn't the most sophisticated and exclusive club in the Capitol but it's certainly the most notorious, and the gossip magazines are perpetually full of talk about the goings on here. Up until tonight I've always avoided it, and I know that's because of Falco. His protection is what keeps me away from here, I know that much, which is why I find it almost ironic that an invitation sent to me in his name is what finally brings me to the place so many people I met in the Control Room cannot even bear the thought of.

Pulling the hem of my far-too-short dress down and ignoring the wholly unpleasant sensation I've come to associate with having countless pairs of eyes following me, I keep battling across the room, searching everywhere for Falco. The great Capitol gossip network otherwise known as my former prep team tells me that Gloss came here too. I hope I don't see him here. More than that, I hope Callista was misinformed by whoever told her my brother's presence had been requested at this awful place.

I walk past a circle of heavily padded benches, ignoring the incessant high-pitched laughter of the women who sit there, half-concealed from the rest of the room. That is until I see they surround a very familiar man, a man who isn't a man at all but a boy who is even younger than Gloss. Finnick Odair may have killed Sapphire, but as I watch him doing everything he can to make those women laugh, I'm struck by two things; firstly that the hate I feel for him has been surpassed by pity in a way it never has before, and secondly that the more I look at him, the more I realise his beaming smile doesn't once reach his sparkling sea-green eyes.

For a split second those eyes meet mine but I look away immediately, hurrying past before anyone can stop me. They call this place a club, but from what I've seen it's nothing more than a glorified brothel, and not even the boy from District Four who murdered my sister deserves the fate he seems to be enduring.

I breathe a silent sigh of relief when I finally see Falco. He stands at the end of the bar, far away from everyone else, and the way he's staring into his empty glass gives me the impression I'm not the only one who can't bear to look at what's happening here.

It takes all of my willpower to stop myself from running over to him and throwing myself into his arms, but I just manage to succeed, walking slowly towards him and stopping a short distance away like we planned. About a minute later he turns to face me, playing his role to perfection as he looks me slowly up and down.

The arrogant sneer on his face that's never normally directed at me makes me shiver in a way I know he'll see. I know that later I will tell him I was acting, performing for anyone who may be watching us just like he was. I also know neither of us will believe me, that he'll know I wasn't acting and that the look in his eyes made me feel the opposite of afraid.

He taps the base of his glass on the bar and the uniformed woman behind it immediately stops what she was doing to replace his drink.

"Would you like one?" he asks me, his accent slightly more pronounced than it normally is.

"No, thank you," I reply stiffly, stepping forwards to stand beside him when he beckons, hoping he'll read from my expression that this has gone far enough and that I want to leave now.

He takes a white rose from his pocket and puts it down next to my hand.

"He's not here," he says, and I know he means Gloss. "He never was."

"Good," I whisper back as I reach across and pick up the rose, twisting it slowly around my fingers. The thorns scratch my skin and I can tell he wants to snatch it from me, but I think of Gloss and keep doing it. "So where is he?"

"I don't know. We should go," he replies, his eyes narrowing in a warning not to say any more here.

He grasps my arm more tightly than he usually would, pulling me back the way I came. The groups of people who had got in my way before seem to slide away from him instinctively, as if they know he's a dangerous man to annoy. I can see them whispering to each other behind their hands but if Falco does then he ignores them. Rich politicians buy Victors, that is no shock at all to the people who frequent this place. When I realise that I also realise there's no need for us to worry about them thinking any more of what they're seeing than what they think they already know.

* * *

I like the balcony even though Falco doesn't really like me being out here, and that means we have the same conversation every time I'm here. He says people will see me. He says people will think I look too relaxed and they'll become suspicious. I reply by telling him he shouldn't be so arrogant as to think people care about who chooses to stand on his apartment balcony and who doesn't. He laughs but his eyes remain serious, and that's what always makes me go back inside in the end, however much I like the fresh air. He knows this place better than I do. When we're here, he leads and I follow.

But tonight is different. Tonight he joins me outside, looking down concernedly at me as if he knows what I'm thinking. As I've thought of little else for days, I'm sure he does.

"He'll be fine," he whispers softly. "He can look after himself."

"How can you say that? How can you say that when you know what he's being forced to do?"

He puts his arm across my shoulders and pulls me back inside, closing the doors tightly behind us. Sitting down on one of the armchairs, he beckons to me when I don't follow. I stand where I stopped, staring blankly at him as I find I can think of nobody but Gloss.

"I know he's your little brother, Butterfly, but he's not a child. If he didn't know exactly what he was getting himself into when he volunteered then he had a pretty good idea."

"That doesn't make it right," I reply, finally taking the hand he extends towards me and letting him pull me onto his lap. "Falco, where did he go?"

"I don't know. I swear to you that I don't know. I'm still trying to find out but it isn't easy."

"I know. I just want to be there for him when…in the morning."

"If I find out then I'll tell you, but first you have to promise me that you won't do anything stupid. Gloss wouldn't want that."

"I promise," I say, before something suddenly occurs to me and I sit up so I can whisper in his ear. "Can we talk here? Is it safe?"

He nods. "I told you," he replies, "I have this place checked for bugs virtually every day. There are few safer places in the city."

"It's going to be soon, isn't it?" I ask, switching topics of conversation to one I hardly dare speak of. "It's got to be if she's risking involving the districts."

He nods again but doesn't speak for several minutes. "The more I tell you, the more dangerous it is for you," he says. "So I don't want to say anything else."

"I've already committed treason ten times over, Falco. I think it's a bit late to worry about the risk of me getting involved."

"Don't remind me," he says, holding me tighter. "If anything happens then you do whatever you have to do to save yourself, do you understand me? Whatever it takes. Tell them I made you do it. Tell them I threatened your family."

I pull away from him enough so I can look into his eyes. "Never! I told you before that you have my loyalty and I would never betray you. I love you."

"And I love you, which is why you must do as I say."

I say nothing but keep steadily looking at him. I was right. It will be soon. I can tell by the tension in his expression, by the look in his eyes. I wrap my arms around him again and rest my head on his shoulder.

"If you fall then I'll fall with you," I whisper. "We've come too far for it to be any different."

"What about Gloss? If it came to it then do you really think he'd stand by and do nothing while you martyred yourself for the cause?"

"It won't come to it," I reply firmly, not wanting to confront that particular issue. "It won't come to it because it won't fail."

* * *

It's only just starting to get light when the phone rings, startling me out of a sleep I didn't think I'd ever find. I pull one of the many pillows over my head in an attempt to make the grating sound a little less harsh on my ears but it doesn't work. I breathe a sigh of relief when Falco answers it, sitting up and trying to attract his attention so he'll tell me who he's talking to. He resolutely ignores me and if anything seems to be going out of his way to avoid my eyes even when he puts the phone down.

"Falco," I say firmly, putting my hands on his shoulders and pushing him back, leaning over him so he has to look at me. "What is it? Is it…?" I continue, starting to panic when I think it's something to do with the rebellion that isn't quite a rebellion yet.

"It isn't that," he replies, pushing my hair behind my ears and leaning up to kiss me.

"Stop trying to distract me and tell me who was on the phone," I say, pulling away slightly.

"It was Achillea," he says, and I know by the way he openly says her name that it wasn't regarding the rebellion.

"And what did she say?"

"She told me who Gloss was with last night."

His words make me immediately push myself from the bed, taking one of the sheets and wrapping it around myself in one movement.

"Well?" I snap, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Remember your promise, Butterfly," he says.

I nod impatiently in response. "And you should remember yours."

He sighs resignedly. "Gloss left the president's banquet with Narissa when the clock struck midnight."

For several seconds I'm speechless, so angry that I can barely breathe, never mind talk. I should have known. If I'm honest with myself then I did know. For some reason, knowing her, or at least knowing her well enough to guess her motives, makes it a lot worse.

"Under Achillea's roof?" I say eventually, surprising myself with the low and deadly note that comes out in my voice. "I'm surprised she allows such…liaisons."

"She isn't at the house. Achillea was asking me if I knew where she was."

"And that means…" I start, already halfway out of the door before I can finish, reaching for my dress as I go.

I storm down the corridor to the staircase with Falco following behind me. Narissa has an apartment three floors below this one, that's what Falco told me once. That's where she'll be. And that's where Gloss will be as well.

"Cashmere, wait!" calls Falco. "Come back upstairs!"

Blinded by my rage, which the nagging voice at the back of my head keeps insisting is no longer entirely about Gloss, I hammer on the door of the fourth floor apartment as soon as I get there. It swings open a short time later to reveal a slightly ruffled-looking Narissa, who pulls her dark-green satin robe more tightly around herself when she recognises me.

"What can I do for you, Cashmere?" she says lightly, her entire being seeming to radiate that smugness I have always despised so much.

"Is my brother here?" I snap, before immediately answering my own question before she can speak. "But of course he is. He didn't have a choice, did he? You did buy him, after all."

"He's here but he's asleep," she says, appearing completely unaffected by my rage. That only makes it worse and she knows it. "I'll make sure he doesn't miss his train home," she adds with mock-sweetness.

"You're shameless," I snarl, not holding back even when I sense Falco's presence behind me. "How could you?"

"I think someone's being a little hypocritical," she replies in a sing-song voice that makes me want nothing more than to permanently wipe the smirk off her face as she looks behind me at Falco. "When I think of all the occasions he's bought your time."

"'Rissa," he interrupts, his voice a warning despite the pet name that's clearly become subconscious over the years. I hate her for that as well.

"He loves me and I love him. There's no way you can compare that to what you've done."

"You're so easy to wind up that it almost takes the fun away," she says, her green eyes narrowed sharply as she stares at me in a way that isn't entirely dissimilar to how Dahlia used to. Narissa fights with words not weapons but the emotion and intense concentration is there just the same. "But only almost," she continues, laughing and pushing her hair back.

"So you did it to get at me? You evil, conniving little bitch."

She laughs again. "I've been called worse, believe me," she purrs. "I'm truly sorry to burst your bubble, Cashmere, but I didn't force him. He had the option of the guest bedroom. It's not my fault he didn't take it. Well, it is, but not in the way you're implying."

I see red and launch myself towards her. She might not be trained to fight like I am, but even before Falco grasps my arms and holds them behind my back, she doesn't shrink away. I didn't expect her to.

She seems pleased she made me react like that, smirking as she tightens the belt of her robe around her tiny waist. I look behind me at Falco, pulling myself free of his grip more so I don't have to look at Narissa's delicate perfection than for any other reason. That same nagging voice I heard at the back of my mind before asks me if I think I'd be quite as angry if she didn't make me feel so threatened. I try to ignore it and I eventually succeed.

"And I'm sure you took great pleasure in educating him, didn't you?" I snarl, abruptly deciding that I'm not quite done yet.

She shakes her head in a way that clearly doesn't indicate denial, reaching the same conclusion as me and deciding she hasn't had enough either. "I'd deny it but I wouldn't want to lie…"

"Narissa, that's enough!" commands Falco, meaning it this time as he reaches for me again. He needn't have bothered because the voice I hear douses my rage instantly.

"Cash? What is it? It's too early to go to the station. We can't go home yet."

Gloss appears in the doorway behind his Capitolian patron, clearly visible because there's at least three inches between the top of her head and the highest point of his shoulder. His hair is dishevelled and not a single button on his shirt is fastened, but he appears more worried to see me than anything else. The look of concern in his eyes as he stares unblinkingly across at me suddenly robs me of any response I might have had.

"Has something happened, Cash? I said not to make her meet you at somewhere like Paradise," he snaps, suddenly turning on Falco. In any other circumstances I'd be amused that my district-born little brother would dare to speak to someone of Falco's standing in such a way even though he does know him well, but right now I'm not capable of feeling amusement.

"Nothing's happened," I say flatly. "I'm fine."

He calls after me when I spin on my heel and retreat back up the stairs to the safety of Falco's apartment but I ignore him. I can't deal with this as well.

* * *

It takes less than two minutes for the sound of approaching footsteps to reach me and I don't know whether to laugh or cry. If we argue then he always comes after me. No matter whose fault it is or what we've temporarily fallen out about, he will always follow me and keep following me until we're at least speaking again. Gloss and I have never been any different so I should really know better than to think we'd change now.

"Cashmere, look at me," he says, and I can hear the anger and confusion in his voice.

I walk further into the room, turning briefly to face him before thinking better of it and looking out of the window.

"Just leave me for a minute," I reply. "I need to deal with this on my own."

"What's there to deal with?" he asks, his voice getting firmer and harsher. "I don't understand."

"No, Gloss, I don't understand," I say, sitting down at the kitchen table and putting my head in my hands. "Why?"

"Why what?" he snaps back. "Why sleep with a Capitolian? That's a bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

"She bought you, Gloss. She bought you but she says you went to her willingly. Why?"

"Why do you think?" he retorts, crossing the room to stand beside me. He looks like he wants to lean down, grasp my shoulders and shake me.

"I don't know," I reply. "I really don't know. She doesn't feel anything for you. She's just using you like I'm sure she uses everyone else."

"Do you seriously think I feel anything for her?" he says. "Because I don't."

"Then why?"

"Do you really want to know?" he says, taking my arm and pulling me to my feet. I still have to look up at him.

"Yes, Gloss, I really want to know," I shout, some of his rage rubbing off on me. I grasp his upper arms as tightly as I can, digging my fingertips into his skin as if that can erase what I can't bear the thought of.

"Because I wanted her. She offered herself to me and I took her because I wanted to. What have I got now, Cashmere? I am young. I'm going to have years and years of fucking whoever the president sells me to because I have no choice. Is it so bad that I was relieved the first one was Narissa? Is it so bad that I was relieved she gave me the choice?"

"So that's what this is all about, is it? I didn't make you volunteer! Panem knows I didn't want you to! It's not my fault!"

I jerk back from him and retreat to the window, staring out at the Capitol so I don't have to see the anger in my brother's eyes. Neither of us speaks or even moves for so long that I begin to consider being the first to give in just as I hear his voice.

"I know that," he says softly, a stark and welcome contrast to his earlier rage. "I made my own choice and I'd do the same thing again, but I don't judge you so don't judge me."

I turn back to face him, tears streaming freely down my face. "Gloss, I'm sorry. I just can't bear the thought of it. I can't…"

My voice trails off as I gasp for breath through my sobs. I try to push him away when he comes over and wraps his arms tightly around me but he's too strong. I stop struggling and collapse against him, my knees giving way, and after a few seconds he sinks to the floor, taking me with him.

"I don't say a word against you being with Falco because you love him. He makes you happy and that makes me happy. I'm not saying I even like Narissa so I certainly don't love her, but I needed her yesterday and she was there for me. Can you try to understand that?"

"I do understand," I reply weakly, my voice shaking slightly, "but I…I wish it hadn't been her." I can't see his face but I feel him smile. "What?"

"She's not so bad really. She's clever. For a Capitolian."

"Why do you think I hate her so much?" I say dryly, mocking myself rather than Narissa in a way I'd only ever let Gloss hear.

"Are you jealous?" he asks teasingly, laughing when I scowl in response.

"Oh good, I see you've managed not to kill each other," observes Falco as he walks into the kitchen and leans casually against the table.

I start to reply but my response is lost and the scowl restored when Narissa also saunters in, her green robe replaced by a tailored black dress.

"You really should learn to control your emotions better," she says, looking at me. "You can hate me all you like and I won't care, but if you're so easy to read that everyone can see what you're thinking then we might have a problem. Especially if you're prone to outbursts in public corridors."

"What-" starts Falco but he doesn't get chance to finish.

"You know what I mean," Narissa replies. "We might have a problem."

"No," he says flatly, suddenly deadly serious. "That's something else entirely."

"Is it?"

"Yes," I say firmly, answering her before Falco can as I abruptly realise she means the rebellion. She thinks I know too much and that I can't be trusted to keep that knowledge to myself. I can tell by the look in her eyes.

"Cash, what are you all talking about?" asks Gloss, getting up and then lifting me so I stand beside him.

I decide, as I have done so many times before, that I will always envy him his ability to somehow still look dignified and elegant even when dragging himself to his feet after collapsing to the floor in a fit of grief and anger. It makes me wonder who he inherited it from, because it definitely wasn't either of our parents.

"Narissa's just worried because I know more about what goes on in this city than most people who don't live in it," I reply, hoping what I say will be enough to convince him.

He nods once he's looked at Narissa and she doesn't deny it. The fact she says nothing tells me she doesn't want Gloss to know about the plans for rebellion either. For once we have something in common.

* * *

"How much does she know?" I ask Falco, using the cover of the noise coming from the crowd gathered outside the train station to hide my words. It's the first time we've had two minutes alone today. "I mean how much does she really know?"

"Narissa?"

"Who else?"

"Everything. She knows more than me. She's worked with her grandmother for a long time, because there are some places which are…no longer as accessible as they once were."

"Like Paradise?" I ask, smiling at the thought of eighty-six year old Achillea in the Capitol's most famous night club.

"Yes. And you can see what Narissa's like. People tell her things. She's very…persuasive when she wants to be."

"I don't doubt it," I reply acidly, thinking of Gloss.

"Don't be too hard on him," he says, watching as my brother finally breaks through the crowd and quickly walks towards us.

"I won't," I say. "I've never had it in me to be mad at him for longer than about five minutes anyway. The worst thing is that he knows it."

"Knows what?" asks Gloss as he drapes his arm across my shoulders, instantly causing an explosion of camera flashes.

"That you're easily the most arrogant man in District One," I reply lightly.

"It's quite right that you say 'man' rather than 'person'," he says, clearly struggling not to smile. "Because we all know that nobody could possibly be more arrogant than you, sister dearest."

I scowl but resist the urge to hit him because I know the whole of Panem is watching us. "Get on the train, Gloss. It's time to go home."

He does as I say, holding the door open for me, but I stop half way up the steps and turn back to face Falco.

"Go on," he says, nodding at the train. "Take the paper with you," he continues, seeming to sense I don't want to say goodbye.

I take the neatly folded newspaper from him and allow Gloss to pull me onto the train. He shuts the door behind me and I immediately pull the window open. We both wave at the gathered crowd but I only have eyes for Falco. I continue to stare at him as the train pulls away, watching him get smaller and smaller until eventually we turn a corner and I can't see him at all.

Gloss puts his arm around me again, pulling me away from the window. I look up at him and he's already looking at me. He squeezes my shoulders slightly and I know he realises I'm thinking of Falco even though he knows better than to say as much when we're on a train that's just left the Capitol.

"We'll be home soon," he says, sinking down onto the nearest chair and pulling me with him.

I nod and tuck my feet up underneath me as I unfold the newspaper. After struggling with both it and Gloss, who playfully tries to knock it from my hands every time I attempt to refold it, I stare down at the seemingly unremarkable headline article, which informs the Capitol citizens of the next government meeting. I've no idea why they need to announce such a thing three months in advance, but it seems that's the way things are done. But more to the point, I have no idea why Falco passed it to me.

I lift it up again, considering where to put it, and a piece of white paper flutters down to land on my lap. Curious, I reach for it and instantly recognise Falco's familiar elaborate script. 'I'm sure you'll be as interested by the headline as I was. Have a good day.' Those are the only two sentences written down and I bite my lip nervously in response to the first as its meaning suddenly becomes clear in my mind, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach caused by the hidden meaning of the second. It doesn't say so in as many words, but what he means is that the government meeting will be when Achillea and her allies make their move. That one day in three months time will see the culmination of decades of work. That day is the one chosen to see the first ever attempt to overthrow the current government. I only wish I had more faith that it will work.

"You've gone quiet," says Gloss, peering curiously at my piece of paper. "Is something wrong?"

"No," I reply. "Other than the obvious."

"Don't worry, Official Business can't be ignored for long," he says with a smile before his expression suddenly turns black as he continues. "And we'll be back in the Capitol before we know it."

"But we're going home now," I reply, trying to be optimistic as I shuffle around to lean against him when he takes my hand in his.

* * *

When the train pulls into the District One station a few hours later and we step onto the platform amidst the usual crowd of reporters and onlookers, I find myself scanning everywhere I can see in search of Satin. I don't know why I expected her to be here, I suppose because Gloss came to meet me when my Tour ended, but she's nowhere to be found.

I'm not the only one to notice her absence, and Gloss quickly announces that he's going up to the workshop to check on her. I teasingly remind him that she's the head of our family rather than a pet kitten, but I let him go all the same. Just in case.

It's freezing in the house and I just about have time to light some of the fires when Gloss bursts into the room. I can tell something's not right as soon as I see him.

"Did you speak to her? Why wasn't she there to meet us at the station?" I ask immediately.

"I didn't get as far as the workshop," he replies, still appearing way more flustered than usual as he paces around instead of sitting down.

"Why?" I prompt, wishing he'd just come out with what's obviously occupying his thoughts.

"Because I bumped into Fortune-"

"You have my sympathy," I interrupt. "And?"

"He gave me this," he says, dropping a newspaper onto my lap.

The first thing I notice is that it's one of the small district papers rather than a massive and brightly coloured one that comes from the Capitol. The paper feels thin in my fingers, like it's going to fall apart before I can read it. But then I suppose I shouldn't really complain about quality when my Tour and Gloss's taught me that no other district in Panem has such a luxury at all.

"And?"

"Open it up. Look at the front page."

I do as he says and a second later the paper falls from my hands onto the table as I freeze in shock.

"Did you know about this?"

"Of course not," he replies, moving to stand behind my chair so we can both stare down at the main article.

"Why would she do it? I don't understand. Why would he do it?"

Satin's face stares back at me and I find myself totally unable to tear my eyes away from the photograph in the paper. Next to her is another, separate photograph of a man who is very familiar to me. The headline loudly proclaims that yesterday morning, Miss Satin de Montfort became Mrs Satin de Montfort-Lancaster in a wedding only attended by two witnesses, who are mandatory in the ceremony here.

Gloss is as speechless as I am, and we sit in dumbstruck silence for several minutes before I make up my mind what I'm going to do next.

"I'm going to find her," I say, and even I am surprised by the determination in my voice.

I know what it feels like to be forced into a situation you have no control over, to have to do something you'd never willingly consent to because you have no choice. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy and certainly not on the sister I am only just starting to truly know. If the same thing has happened to Satin then I intend to do whatever I have to do to make it stop. Miracle Lancaster might be the wealthiest non-Capitolian in the district but he is exactly that. Non-Capitolian. And that means we're on an equal footing. If he's hurt my sister then he's going to have to answer to me.

I stride from the room and Gloss doesn't try to stop me.

* * *

"Is she here?" I call, speaking to any of her employees who happen to be within hearing range. "Where is she?"

"She's in her office, Miss," says the nearest one, a middle aged woman in a neat white shirt and black skirt. "I don't think she knows you're back from the Capitol."

I nod in acknowledgement but say nothing, not pausing as I practically run down the corridor towards the office I will forever think of as being my father's. When I get there I don't bother knocking, finding my sister sitting on the throne-like chair behind the desk surrounded by paperwork. She looks as lot smaller on it than Father did but it suits her all the same.

"I didn't think you'd be back yet," she says calmly, barely looking up at me for a second while she finishes whatever she's doing. Once she's done that she pushes back, stretching her arms above her head before relaxing and fixing her dark eyes firmly on me. "Is Gloss still…is he still Gloss?"

"Mostly," I reply, taken aback by her question. "It was tough on him but he's coping as best he can."

"That sounds like something you'd tell Father when you didn't want to tell him the whole truth," she replies sharply. "Answer me properly."

"After the first couple of days he couldn't sleep on his own because his nightmares got too bad, so he spent most nights of the Tour curled up in my bed like he used to when he was five. Then when we got to the Capitol the inevitable happened and he's now getting used to the prospect of spending the next Panem knows how many years as an unwilling participant in the big city's sex trade." Her eyes finally leave mine and remain focussed on the desk in front of her. "You wanted the truth, Satin. Now you have it."

"I know. It's just… I…"

I narrow my eyes at her, unused to hearing such uncertainty in her voice. I always thought Father had drilled that out of her twenty years ago.

"What? You can't bear the thought of it? That makes two of us then, sister dearest," I snap, returning to the mocking tone I used to reserve only for her, "but you're a bit behind me."

"Grow up, Cashmere. I love him as well."

I flop down onto the chair on the opposite side of the desk, staring at her over the mountain of papers. "I know."

Her eyes flash briefly to mine but then she carries on writing. All I can hear is the sound of her pen as it scratches the paper. She's left-handed and I can't stop staring at the gold ring on her third finger.

"Are you going to explain then?"

"Explain what?"

"What do you think? Why I had to read it in the paper that you got married. Or better still, how about starting with telling me why you're married to Miracle Lancaster in the first place."

She looks back at me and smirks that same smirk I remember seeing when we were in my sitting room just before Gloss's Tour started. The expression confuses me immediately, mostly because it isn't one of someone forced into marriage against their will. I've grown up here so I know what that looks like, and it certainly isn't the look on my sister's face right now. No, she married Miracle out of choice, but I have no idea why she would.

"But you don't love him. You can't possibly love him."

She smiles, once more in a way that says she isn't unhappy with the arrangement. "No, little sister, I don't love him, not in the way you mean anyway. But love isn't everything."

"So you're friends then?" I ask, more in an attempt to get her to keep talking than because I expect her to answer in the affirmative.

"Sort of," she replies. "We're allies really, and in times like these, that is much more effective."

"I don't understand."

"Nothing new there then," she says, and I scowl at her half-heartedly, knowing that sometimes she can't help regressing into the past any more than I can.

"Are you going to explain or are you just going to keep sniping at me?"

She sighs, deliberately melodramatic in a way that only Satin can achieve. "I might keep sniping at you. Why would I stop when it's so much fun?"

"Satin," I growl warningly, making her laugh lightly in response.

"Who is Miracle?" she asks, answering my original question with a question in a way that makes me wonder if she's been spending time with Falco behind my back.

"An arrogant and egotistical child trapped in man's body," I reply, only half teasing.

"Seriously," she snaps, her tone telling me she doesn't entirely agree with me.

"He's the head of the family that runs the wealthiest jewellery workshop in the district," I answer, all teasing temporarily forgotten.

"Exactly," she replies, trying to push her rapidly escaping hair back into place. She gives up less than a second later and pulls the clip out, throwing it onto the desk as her dark curls fall around her face. "And who am I?"

"My beloved elder sister," I say mockingly, smiling so she knows I'm teasing again. Then the direction she's going with this suddenly becomes clear. "And the head of the second-wealthiest non-Capitolian family in the district," I finish quietly. "Are you telling me you married Miracle as part of a business deal?"

"United we conquer, divided we fall," she says with a smirk. "The taxes go up every month and it keeps getting harder and harder to survive. If Miracle and I are married then the Capitol can't play one of us off against the other to keep the prices down. They give us a fairer deal because there's nobody in the district bigger and better than us. A fairer deal for us is nothing to them so as long as we do as we're told and don't get too demanding then it works out for all concerned."

"So you did marry him as part of a business deal?"

"Sort of," she replies.

"So you're married in name only for the good of his family and ours?" I persist.

"Sort of," she repeats, looking away from me and being deliberately evasive in a way that tells me all I need to know.

"I can tell by the look on your face that you're not unhappy," I say laughingly, "so I'm going to politely request that you say no more for the sake of my sanity. But Miracle Lancaster? Really, Satin, I don't know how you bear it."

"His father's death made him grow up a lot," she replies, looking at me with a very serious but somehow not solemn expression. "And he's not all bad. He does have some redeeming qualities."

"I told you, I really don't want to know," I retort teasingly.

"I didn't mean it like that," she says, shaking her head as she tries not to laugh. "Although I could have done," she continues, finally giving in and laughing at my raised eyebrows. "But it was the right thing to do. For us and for our families and for the people who work for us. Not everyone's lucky enough to have their own Capitolian politician."

"I don't have my own Capitolian politician."

"Yes, Cashmere, you do," she replies flatly, the level of innuendo in her voice so great it's almost visible. "That's why he does whatever you want."

"Satin! Now it's my turn to say I didn't mean it like that."

"I did."

"You're impossible, you do know that, don't you?"

"I try my best," she says lightly, smirking at me again.

"Anyway, you do pretty well for yourself without anyone's help," I reply, smiling and preparing to leave her to her work at the same time as wondering exactly when the vast majority of our insults stopped having any genuine venom in them. "And to think I was getting ready to kill him for forcing you into a marriage you didn't want…"

This time it's her eyebrows that fly up in the direction of her hairline. "It would take more than a man like my husband to force me into anything I didn't want," she says, and I can't help but silently agree with her when I think about the formidable woman she's become since Father died.

"I'll leave you to it then," I tell her, pushing the chair back where I had it from and walking quickly to the door.

I'm about to close it behind me when she calls my name softly. I look back and she's still resolutely focussed on her paperwork as if she can't bring herself to look at me.

"Would you really have done that for me?"

"Only because I haven't had a good fight for ages," I reply evenly. "I think I should start training again because I really miss it."

She ducks her head even further, telling me that the true feelings which I kept hidden behind the words I actually said aloud weren't lost on her. Of course I would have done that for her. She's my family and I respect her. And I'd never admit it but I think we've both softened to each other over the past months and I'd even go as far as to say that I like her.

* * *

I've been back to the Capitol once in the past three months but Gloss has been four times. It's always first thing in the morning when he comes back, just as I'm making breakfast, and he strolls into the kitchen through the back door like he would on any other day. The look in his eyes is the only visible way I can tell he hasn't simply been for a walk to the main square.

This is another of those mornings where I'm waiting for him to return, and once it started to get light I couldn't make myself stay in bed even though I knew getting up wouldn't make Gloss come back any quicker. I put the two mugs I've taken off the shelf onto the table when I hear the door open, spinning around so quickly that I nearly lose my balance.

I whisper his name as he stares at me like he hasn't seen me for years, and that makes him walk swiftly towards me. He hugs me tightly, so tightly that it's almost uncomfortable, or it would be if I cared. I don't, because he's back home and that's all that matters.

Then he pushes me away slightly without letting me go, looking closely at me almost as if it had been me who'd gone to the Capitol. I try not to but I find myself examining him just as closely. He looks tired, and there are bruises on his wrists that his long sleeves don't quite cover no matter how hard he's obviously trying to make them.

"I've got to go back," he says, pulling me against him again and entwining his hands in my hair. "This afternoon."

"What? Why? Why did they send you home if you had to go back?"

"They didn't send me home," he replies. "There was a train coming here this morning and there's another taking you to the Capitol this afternoon for that stupid fashion show. I don't have a choice how I spend my nights but I didn't think they'd care much what I do during the day. I came back so you didn't have to travel on your own."

I start to thank him but then I realise I don't have to. I rest my head against his chest again, trying not to think about where he was a few hours ago. It doesn't matter. He's here with me now and that's all I care about.

I don't know how long we stand there for, but eventually a loud knock at the door startles me from my trance, making both Gloss and I turn towards it in time to see it swing open.

"Who is it?" I shout, pulling away from Gloss and already glaring at whoever dares to open the door to my house without invitation.

"Hello, Cashmere," says Miracle as he walks slowly into the kitchen. "Gloss," he continues, nodding in my brother's direction.

"What do you want?"

"What kind of welcome is that for your brother-in-law?" he asks, leaning against the kitchen table and casually running a hand through his blond hair.

"The only one you're entitled to expect," I snap back. "What do you want?"

"Are you going back to the Capitol?"

"Why?"

"Satin wanted to know."

"And she couldn't come here and ask us herself?"

"She wanted to, but we have a visitor from the city and she…listens to Satin more than she listens to me."

"She's obviously a sensible woman then," I reply. "Tell Satin that we won't be long. I'll come to the house when I get back."

Miracle nods and shrugs his shoulders. "None of us are what we used to be, Cashmere," he says quietly, his change in tone making Gloss return to my side instantly.

"I still don't trust you," I say. "You're up to something, I just haven't worked out what it is yet."

He smiles and shakes his head. "You're right, in a way, and I won't tell you what it is. But I can tell you that I'm working with your sister and not against her."

"You'd better be," interrupts Gloss, the tone of his words alone somehow changing the atmosphere in the room without him having to move an inch.

"Are you threatening me, de Montfort?" asks Miracle, immediately making me recall the bully he had been a few years ago.

"No," replies Gloss, "I'm merely reminding you how unwise it would be to mess with my family. But as you're not intending to, there's no issue, is there?"

I rest my hand on Gloss's arm, attempting to convince myself he's just concerned about Satin and that I can't see that look in his eyes, that he isn't looking at Miracle in the same way he looked at Theodorus and the man who propositioned me in District Four. Miracle nods to both of us and walks away, telling me without words that the man he's become is very different to the boy he was, and Gloss visibly relaxes.

"Don't worry," I tell him lightly. "If he crosses Satin then he'll regret the day he was born. You'll be the least of his worries.

He smiles and hugs me again, but even as he does I can't help wondering exactly how much the Games and the inevitable consequences of becoming a Victor have truly affected him. Most of the time he is virtually indistinguishable from the Gloss I've always known and I almost forget what he's been through, but then something will happen and he'll crack. My brother will vanish to leave only rage and anger behind. His expression will temporarily go blank and in that instant I believe him capable of anything. I will never fear him but there are times when I fear the person he becomes.

All I can do is hope it fades over time, that I don't lose him completely. Either that or hope the rebellion succeeds and we come to live in a very different Panem to the one threatening to break both of us beyond repair. There's not long to wait now. I'll know soon enough.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

I stride angrily towards the tall apartment block's main entrance, not even having to look at the invitation for the code. Why would I need to when it's already forever etched into my memory? It's only when I'm in the lift that I start to think I should have looked a little less sure of myself in case anyone's watching. But then I realise it's too late to do anything about it now and quickly press the button for the fourth floor while looking longingly at the one for the seventh.

I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe Falco told me to go along with it. What is she playing at? She may be his childhood friend but I don't trust her. I can tell something's happening, something big. I just wish I knew what.

Almost as soon as I knock on the door I can hear footsteps approaching, high-heeled shoes clicking on the fine wooden floor. It swings open seconds later to reveal Narissa, dressed as perfectly as ever in a long green evening dress with gold stiletto shoes on her tiny feet. My anger increases ten-fold at the mere sight of her.

"What is this?" I snap, not giving her chance to speak. "If you're hoping for a repeat of last time then I think you'll find you've got the wrong de Montfort."

She laughs, seemingly genuinely amused by my words. Then I stare at her, too stunned to move as she steps forward and runs a perfectly manicured hand gently through my hair.

"You wouldn't regret it," she whispers softly, making my mind go blank when her meaning abruptly becomes clear. Then she laughs again. "Oh, Cashmere, your poor, confused, district-born mind. If you could only see your face."

She stands back to allow me past and I scowl viciously at her before walking into what I guess from the layout of Falco's apartment three floors higher will be the kitchen. It somehow seems to be the safest place for me to attempt to comprehend what's happening here.

* * *

I wasn't wrong about where the kitchen is, but I also wasn't expecting to find Vespasian sitting at the table, leaning casually back on his chair with a steaming hot mug of coffee in front of him. When he sees me he pushes the mug across the table in my direction, telling me to have seat.

I gaze speechlessly at him for a minute, trying not to let my eyes drift to the vase on the window ledge that contains a single white rose. Then I spin around to face Narissa, who stands in the doorway, watching me amusedly. As soon as my eyes meet hers, her composure cracks for the first time in my memory as she starts to laugh and clearly can't stop.

"Relax, Cashmere," she says eventually. "Vespasian's always been lucky but he's not that lucky."

"So what's this all about?" I ask, trying desperately to keep both the shock and relief I feel from my voice and the confusion from my expression.

She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders, making me wonder if I imagined her previous loss of self-control. Then she slinks across the room in that way that makes Gloss stare at her and me want to hit her, stopping as close as she can get to me without us touching. I stand still, determined not to give her the satisfaction of seeing me move.

"The time is now," she says, rising up on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear. "Vespasian and I needed an excuse to be in the same place at the same time so I decided to further tarnish your already less than lily-white reputation to achieve it. For the greater good, of course, so I'm sure you won't mind."

"Where's Gloss?" I ask, struggling to control my temper.

"Really, Butterfly," she says with scathing mock disapproval, "I don't think it would really be appropriate to have him here right now, do you? Not when you consider what everyone else will think is happening here tonight."

"Don't ever call me that," I spit, turning to face her as I narrow my eyes. She doesn't back away any more than I did. "Answer my question."

"I don't know where he is," she replies, seemingly honestly for once. "He's not as fortunate as you."

I duck my head at her words, knowing she speaks a truth I can hardly bear to acknowledge.

"So now what?" I ask.

"You don't get involved with this. Go to bed."

"In the guest room you _offered_ to Gloss," I reply resentfully, hating the way she speaks to me like I'm a young and stupid child.

"That's the general idea," she replies with a smirk and a very different tone of voice. "Unless you want to sleep in my bed? I wouldn't push you out."

"You're insufferable," I hiss, spinning on my heel and storming from the room, trying to ignore the laughter that follows me.

* * *

"Cashmere. Cashmere, get up. Cashmere."

I open my eyes to find Narissa leaning over me, her expression more serious than I've ever seen it. She yanks the quilted blanket off me before throwing my coat into my arms and pointing imperiously at the door.

"Why the rush?" I ask. "Have you come to your senses and decided you're ashamed of yourself?"

"There's a train leaving for District One in an hour. You and Gloss will be on it. Falco's gone to get your brother," she adds in response to what must be my obvious confusion.

"I don't understand."

"I told you this last night," she says impatiently. "The time is now and Falco wants you out of the Capitol. Panem only knows why but he loves you. If it doesn't work out in our favour then he doesn't want you tainted by association."

"But… I…"

"Just go, Cashmere," she snaps. "For once in your life just do as you're told."

"I don't take orders from you, Narissa Redsparrow," I retort, standing up so I can look down on her, suddenly feeling inclined to stay right where I am despite how much I wanted to leave before.

"It's not my order," she replies, looking around nervously as if she expects something to jump from the shadows and attack her. "I'm merely the messenger. Now go," she continues, pointing at the door once more. "The car will be waiting for you outside."

With one final glare at her, I snatch up my coat and stalk from the room, down the corridor to the lift and then out into the icy cold dawn. It might be spring but it still feels like winter at this time in the morning here and I shiver as I pull my coat on and wrap it tightly around myself. If I'm this cold then Gloss must be freezing.

The car pulls up in front of me as soon as I pass through the final security gate and Falco throws the door open, grasping my arm and pulling me inside. We're moving again before I've even sat down.

"Falco, this is crazy. What's going on?"

"You know what's going on, but you're not going to be here to see it. You're going home."

"But I can't go home. I've got to stay for Felix's show."

"Felix has had a few technical difficulties," he replies, his tone of voice telling me that those difficulties were neither accidental nor unforeseen. "The show's been postponed for a couple of days so there's no reason for you to stay."

"Where's Gloss?" I ask, suddenly realising my brother isn't here. "Narissa said you'd gone to find him."

"He's at the station already. I left him there because I knew you'd react like this."

"He mustn't know any of this. He can't."

"Exactly," he says. "He's not stupid. If I'd brought him with me then he'd have worked out that something's not right."

"And what does he think now?"

"That he's done here for a while and Felix has had technical difficulties. I told him I thought it best if you went home in case someone realised you weren't busy with the fashion show and decided to buy your time."

"And he believed you?" I ask, surprised that my little brother, who I've always thought was born suspicious, fell for the lie so easily.

"I'm a very good liar when I need to be, Butterfly. How do you think I've held my position for so long?"

I smile slightly and briefly rest my hand on his before moving away, just in case. A few minutes later we arrive at the station and Gloss is there waiting exactly as Falco said he would be. I can tell immediately that he believed the lie, that he suspects nothing and knows nothing about the almost-rebellion. Despite what I said to Falco, I'm not surprised. Why would he suspect the truth when the truth is so far-fetched that I barely believe it myself?

* * *

Once we arrive back in District One, I spend the whole day at home, hiding from everyone as I wait for the news I know may not come. Gloss goes to see Satin but I don't go with him even though he asks me to at least ten times. I can't face anyone, I don't want to talk. I just sit in an armchair by the phone I know won't ring, twisting the bracelet Falco gave me around and around on my wrist as though keeping hold of it will keep him safe.

It's almost dark when Gloss returns. He tries to get me to tell him what's wrong, asking me over and over again to talk to him, to not shut him out, but I say nothing. Eventually he gives up and tells me to go to bed, and when I still don't respond he picks me up and carries me upstairs. We don't bother to change or even to go to our separate rooms. What's the point when we both know our nightmares would wake us less than an hour later if we did?

* * *

When I wake up the sun is shining brightly through the window, telling me it's quite late into the morning. I take a deep breath and look down at Gloss. He's still sleeping, his arm thrown across my stomach, and I can't quite believe how peaceful he seems, what a contrast there is between the relaxed expression on his face now and the tense one I see when he's awake. Then I turn slightly and my movement wakes him, making him sit up instantly like he never left the arena.

Once he remembers where he is, he smiles at me and disappears, returning about half an hour later in fresh clothes and with slightly damp hair. The look in his eyes tells me he was expecting me to do the same rather than staying in bed staring into space and imagining the worst about something I can't explain.

"Get up, Cash," he says, speaking with a false brightness not unlike that he uses during his interviews in the Capitol. "We're going to see Satin. I need to ask her something."

"You only went yesterday," I reply, making no move to get out of bed.

"I need to go back today. And you're coming with me."

"What if I don't want to?"

"I'm not planning on giving you a choice, sister dearest," he retorts with a grin. This time I welcome it because there's nothing fake about it. It's an expression I've known for as long as I can remember. "Get up and make yourself presentable or I'll carry you to Satin's like you are."

"And what exactly is wrong with me as I am?" I ask, my voice stern despite the smile I can't quite hide.

He says nothing but holds a mirror out to me so I can see how my hair is currently a jumbled mass of curls which seem to stick out every which way but the way they're meant to.

"OK, OK, I'm getting up now. I'll see you downstairs in a minute," I say, recognising when he's in one of his determined moods and deciding to give in relatively gracefully.

* * *

It's almost midday by the time we get to Satin's, and I'm disappointed but not at all surprised to find Miracle at the house with her. They're both sitting in the dining room, with plans and charts of figures spread out around the massive table in front of them. When Gloss and I walk in they look up, Satin quickly returning her attention to her piece of paper but Miracle holding my brother's gaze for a lot longer. I deliberately position myself between them, not feeling up to dealing with another fight today.

"What did the Capitolians say?" asks Gloss, looking at Satin.

"Maybe," she replies distractedly.

"Maybe what? Which Capitolians?" I interrupt, and surprisingly it's Miracle who answers.

"A new contract," he says. "Well, it's an old contract actually. One of the ones the Woodvilles took off your father."

"So the war continues," I reply, looking at my sister rather than her husband.

"It's only a war if both sides are still fighting," she says with an evil smile. "I'd be more inclined to call it an annihilation. And Glory Woodville's going down."

I shake my head, secretly admiring my sister's determination as she continues her ongoing vendetta against the woman she believes killed our father. I smile as my eyes drift to the overcrowded table, but that smile abruptly fades as I read the headline on one of the newspapers.

"What is it, Cash?" asks Gloss, as sensitive to my mood as ever. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I reply, picking up the paper at the same time.

It's from the Capitol, today's edition. Satin and Miracle need them for work so it would be. The front page contains only one story: the tragic death of one of the city's most respected residents. The face staring back at me from the photograph is Achillea's.

"Cashmere?"

It's Satin's voice this time, accompanied by the touch of Gloss's hand to my shoulder. I don't respond to either, knowing instinctively that the only thing this can mean is that the plot failed, that it all went wrong. And if Achillea's dead then who else was discovered? Falco could have been arrested, he could already be dead. Anything could be happening to him and I have no way of helping or even of finding out. I am powerless, powerless and in the dark in a way I haven't been since the arena.

"Cash, what is it? Did you know that woman? Cashmere?"

Gloss gently prises the now very scrunched paper from my hands, setting it on the table and taking my hand firmly in his. I vaguely hear him tell Satin and Miracle that we'd see them later before he leads me from the room and out into the warm spring air. I barely notice the change in temperature.

I follow him blindly, only noticing where we are when he eventually pushes me down onto a seat. The seat proves to be a park bench and I find myself looking around at the small park where we used to go when Sapphire was still alive. I haven't been back here since she died.

"Gloss," I say, surprised by how shaky my voice is. "What are we doing here?"

"I didn't want us to have this conversation in the house in case it's bugged, but we're here so you can tell me exactly what's going on. You haven't been yourself since we came back from the Capitol and I haven't seen the look on your face you had when you saw that newspaper since I volunteered for the Games. So tell me. Now."

"I can't."

"You can. There's nothing you can't tell me, Cashmere," he says, putting his arm across my shoulders and pulling me close. "What is it?"

"Gloss, I can't. I promised myself I'd never tell you. You can't be involved. It's too dangerous."

"It's Falco, isn't it? Or something to do with him."

"What makes you say that?"

"There are only two people alive who could make you react like this, Cash. As one of them is me and I know there's nothing wrong with me that wasn't wrong with me before we went to the Capitol, it stands to reason that it's something to do with Falco."

"Sometimes I really wish you were stupid, do you know that?"

"No, you don't. Tell me the truth."

I take a deep breath and snuggle closer to him, both because it means I only have to talk very quietly and because his presence relaxes me in the same way it always has. Then I proceed to tell him everything about the rebellion that never was. I tell him about the Dark Days, about Leander and his sons, about Achillea and her dream of revolution. The only thing I leave out is Falco's involvement and my role as a messenger, but I quickly realise I should have known better than to think he wouldn't work it out.

"So this Achillea and her followers tried to overthrow the government? Seriously?" I nod. "And you knew about this since when?"

"Since the night of your Victory Ceremony."

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

"I didn't want to put you in danger. I love you too much to get you involved. It doesn't matter now anyway. I can tell you because it's all over."

"Have the Games taught you nothing?" he asks, looking down into my eyes. "Has what's happened to us since we became Victors taught you nothing? That plot was never going to succeed. You can't overthrow the president, he's too powerful. He can do whatever he likes to anyone and nobody can stop him. That's just the way life is."

"What…happened to me after my Tour hasn't happened again," I reply, hoping to demonstrate that even President Snow isn't infallible.

"I will be indebted to Falco for the rest of my life for what he does for you, but you are only free of…that because of him. You love him, I know that, but he is still one of _them_. He can only do what he does because he's not like us."

I look up at him, and as I do I feel my silent tears rolling down my cheeks. He closes his eyes then, shaking his head sadly.

"He's involved in this, isn't he? That's how you know so much."

"Yes," I reply, just managing to get the word out before dissolving into tears. The rest of my sentence comes out in gasps and sobs that are barely intelligible even to my own ears. "And if Achillea's dead then they must have been found out. He could be dead, Gloss. What if he's dead? What if they found out he knew about the plot?"

He says nothing for several minutes, holding me tightly and rubbing my back until my tears subside. "Perhaps Satin can find out? She knows people in the Capitol through the workshop."

"No, you can't ask her because she'd want to know why. She can't know about this. Nobody can. Not ever."

"How about Felix? He'll have to contact you to tell you when his show is."

"All the phones are bugged, Gloss. I don't think he's as good at coded messages as we are."

"He'll be fine, Cash," he says, and I know he doesn't mean my stylist. "You know what he's like, he'll talk his way out of it and they'll never make anything stick."

"You don't know that. You know what they're like and nothing's punished as harshly as treason."

Gloss pulls me around and grips my upper arms tightly so I have to look at him. "I know you're scared but you have to listen to me and you have to do what I say. Do you understand? Can you do that for me?" I nod tearfully and he continues as if he thinks I'll change my mind any second. "You have to carry on like you don't even know about this. You have to come with me back to Satin's and then we'll go home, and you have to smile and laugh like you would normally. He's a member of government, Cashmere, they can't just make him disappear. If something's happened then we'll know about it soon enough, but you have to keep going."

"I'm not sure I can, Gloss. Every time I close my eyes I imagine the worst. I can't stand not knowing."

"You have to, Cash. You have to. Will you try and do it for me? Please."

I look into his eyes, at the totally earnest expression on his face, and I realise I can't refuse him. We are so linked in the eyes of the Capitol that anything I do is bound to impact on Gloss. I love him too much to put him at risk so I have to try.

* * *

I always knew Felix was more aware of what was happening than Falco thought he was even if he never actually told me so. He didn't have to tell me. It was the little things he did, like the way he delayed his fashion show while he waited to see what happened, and the message he sent me convincing me nothing had happened to Falco without saying it outright.

When I arrived here this morning he said he delayed everything because he didn't want me to have to deal with coming here if it went badly. He didn't have to say the words for me to understand his meaning. He meant he didn't want me here if the inner workings of the former rebellion plot were revealed and Falco ended up dead. Or worse. I shudder at the mere thought.

It's over now, all of Achillea's years of plotting and hard work rendered pointless in a matter of hours. I struggle to make myself care when all that really matters to me is that Falco is safe. The emancipation of this country meant everything to Achillea, more than her own life, and I can't help thinking I should feel bad because I can't mourn our loss at the chance of freedom when I can feel nothing but relief. Falco is alive and nothing else matters. Perhaps that's what love is. Perhaps that's what it does to you.

I push open the front door of the apartment after entering the now familiar security code and walk quickly down the corridor towards the single source of light. I see him as soon as I walk into the study, sitting on his desk chair staring out of the window, his stiffly-straight back to me. I know he hears me from his attempt to relax his shoulders, but it doesn't quite hide the tension in his posture.

My feet make no sound as I move to stand opposite him, putting myself between him and his view of the city. He doesn't move. He doesn't even look at me.

I whisper his name but he still doesn't acknowledge my presence. He stares straight ahead as if he can see through me, reminding me far too much of Gloss when he first came out of the arena. I've seen that kind of emptiness in the eyes of someone I love before and it hurts too much for me to do nothing.

I sigh deeply and step forwards, using the arms of the chair to lift myself up until I sit on his lap with one leg on either side of him. I point my toes towards the floor but they don't quite reach.

He hisses sharply when I rest my hands on his shoulders, making me whisper his name again as I begin to suspect I know exactly why. After my second visit to the Capitol following my Victory Tour, I have reason to remember the pain that comes from pulling against restraints that hold your hands above your head. I remember the exact muscles you pull and they're the ones I'm lightly touching now. That thought sets my mind racing, fearing the worst even more than I did when I first saw the blankness of his expression.

"What happened? Falco? What did they do to you?"

He does look at me then, his hands moving to rest on my hips as he softly whispers my name like I did his and tries to smile.

"You've lost weight," he says, his thumbs pressing gently against my hipbones.

"Don't change the subject," I reply, knowing my first, instinctive response of 'because I've been worrying about you' would only make him feel worse. He doesn't know I've spent the vast majority of the time since he told me about the rebellion plot half-expecting to read his obituary in the newspaper.

"They…questioned me about, well, you know about what. I told them I didn't know what they were talking about. They believed me. Eventually."

"What do you mean 'eventually'?" I ask, pushing back slightly.

He says nothing, his eyes locked with mine even when I unfasten the buttons of his shirt and push the fabric aside. His usually honey-coloured skin is all shades of black, blue and purple with bruises.

"Like I said," he whispers. "Eventually."

I don't know what to say so I wrap my arms around him as best I can with the chair in the way, only realising how that probably won't help when I've already moved. I apologise and try to pull away but he doesn't let me, telling me over and over again that it doesn't hurt anymore. I know he's lying but I let him hold me anyway as it seems to help. I remember how many times I've clung to him in the past and wonder if this is how he felt, if he held me tighter and tighter because it was the only way he could think of to take some of the pain away.

* * *

It was just after nine in the evening when Felix left me in front of this apartment building and the clock above the fireplace has struck one in the morning before we move. I half-expected Falco to want to talk about what happened during his questioning, but as the hours ticked by I came to realise this isn't so very different to my memories of the arena. Some things are better left alone until it's possible to gather enough strength to deal with them, and some things are simply better left unsaid. He'll tell me when he's ready, I think to myself, and when he eventually stands up, taking me with him to the bedroom without saying a word, I also say nothing. Sometimes there simply aren't words.

Later still I'm lying staring up at the ceiling even though I can see very little, listening to the distant and muffled sounds of the Capitol outside, which never seem to stop no matter what ridiculously early time in the morning it is. I still can't believe the rebellion's over before it began. I can't believe all those years of meticulous planning could be brought crashing down by one person's betrayal. It just goes to show how precarious life is, how dangerous it is to act against the president's authority.

It makes me think that I shouldn't be here, that the risk is too great. I am a Victor and that means the president sees me as property. His property. So if I were to be found in this room, in this bed, then the consequences don't bear thinking about. For the first time since I sat on the tribute train that took me to the Capitol for my Games, I start to consider if it would be best for both of us if Falco and I didn't see each other any more, even if it is the absolute last thing I want..

"I thought I'd never see you again," he whispers into the near-darkness, seeming to know I'm awake. "I thought they'd kill me and I'd never see you again."

"Maybe it would be better if you didn't," I reply, hating the feel of the words in my mouth. "Safer, I mean. For you. If they find me here…"

"Safer?" he echoes. "Do you think safer matters to me? Do you think it ever did?"

"But they hurt you," I say. "They'd do worse if the president found out about us and about what you do for me."

"And what do you think not seeing you would do to me? There was a time when I thought my life made sense. I wasn't always happy but I knew what I had to do and I did it. But then there was the Sixty-sixth Hunger Games and everything I thought was important suddenly wasn't. You changed everything, Cashmere, and I'd never go back."

"But…" I start, trailing my hand lightly over the bruises on his chest. "…I can't bear the thought of what they did to you."

"Then don't think about it," he replies, tugging lightly on the lock of my hair he was twisting around his finger. "There was one thought that stopped me from confessing everything in that interrogation room, and that was the thought of being here with you like this. If you look me in the eye and tell me you don't love me then I will let you walk away, but don't ever even think of leaving me for my own safety because I won't let you."

"I could do it, you know," I say, my voice deliberately light. "I am a true daughter of District One and I'm very convincing. I could look you in the eye and tell you I don't love you."

"But I wouldn't believe you," he replies as I turn around to lie on my stomach and push myself up on my elbows, staring straight into his dark eyes. "I know when you're lying, Butterfly, I can always tell."

"Just like I can always tell with you. You admitted it yourself, you can't lie to me."

"And I don't try to," he says, flipping me back over so I'm the one looking up at him. "I love you, I always will. Whatever happens with the president and the Peacekeepers and the revolution, that won't ever change."

"Good," I reply, smirking when he quickly lies back down again, the pain obviously getting too much. "I told you those bruises still hurt."

"I don't care," he says, putting his arm around me again and pulling the blankets up.

I close my eyes, thinking my mind might finally rest enough for me to go to sleep, and I realise that I don't care either. I don't care about the risk, I don't care about what the consequences would be if we were discovered. All I care about is that he's alive and here with me. That's what matters.

* * *

It's already midway through the morning when I wake up, and that means I'm running very late for the first of many interviews I'm scheduled to give. I won't be mentoring this year but Gloss will, and it seems that every reporter in the city wants to speak to me about the possibility of increasing the District One winning streak to three consecutive years.

That means the day passes very quickly as I am whisked from one high-profile location to another, barely having time to gather my thoughts before I'm asked the same questions for what feels like the thousandth time. My brother joins me at several of the public appearances we make, and I can tell by the look in his eyes that he's hating every second of it despite the sunny smile he gives to the cameras. If I could take him from here then I would, but as the sun sets he is swiftly taken away, leaving me staring after him, dreading the thought of where his final destination will be.

I know I shouldn't take the risk, not considering how any number of people could have seen me there only last night, but I go to Falco's apartment anyway. The fall of the rebellion hit him hard, as I knew it would, and I want to be there for him. Nevertheless, I leave it as late as I can before leaving the restaurant which was the location for my last interview, and it's nearly midnight by the time I let myself inside the familiar building.

Falco's already waiting for me when I get to the seventh floor, realising I wouldn't be able to stay away, but as soon as we sit down we jump to our feet again in response to the noise that's obviously coming from the other side of the front door. We exchange worried glances, then for once I do as he tells me and go back into the sitting room, hiding behind the mahogany screen by the window. It will be the death of both of us if the wrong people find me here.

I listen for voices in the corridor and I don't know whether to be relieved by what I hear or not. All I know is that it isn't the Peacekeepers, so I leave my hiding place and step carefully and quietly out of the room.

I've seen plenty of surprising and shocking sights in my life, but when I see Narissa I'm truly stunned. She can barely keep herself upright, her usually perfect hair is dishevelled, and the few items of clothing she wears are torn and filthy. She couldn't look more different from the poised and elegant woman I'm so used to despising.

I get closer and she laughs at me, stumbling forwards. She smells of alcohol and smoke, sweat and stale perfume. If it wasn't for Falco's grip on her arm then she'd have long since fallen over. I'm lost for words. I don't know what to think.

"Narissa, where have you been?" asks Falco.

"Forgetting," she replies, her voice slurring.

"What have you taken?" he asks, bending down and lifting her up, carrying her down the corridor and nodding at me to follow.

"Not enough," she says.

"Falco, what's wrong with her?" I say, rushing ahead of him so I can open the door to the guest bedroom.

"She's drunk, Cashmere. Drunk and Panem knows what else."

"I know that," I retort, speaking more sharply than I intended. "But why?"

"I can't imagine she escaped as lightly as I did when everything fell apart," he replies ominously, and when I remember how black and blue with bruises he is, I shudder to think what happened to her.

"Falco," whimpers Narissa, the feeble voice sounding strange coming from her. "Falco, she's dead. It's all over. She's dead."

"I know," he says soothingly, putting her down on one of the armchairs.

When he starts to step away she clings to him, and it's only when I go to help and she clings to me as well that I realise how far gone she is.

"Butterfly, go and run her a bath. She'll have to sleep it off here."

I quickly do what he says and then return to the bedroom. Narissa looks to be asleep now, clutching Falco's hand and twitching in response to whatever she sees in her dreams. The look on her face and the tension in her body tells me that what she's seeing isn't pleasant.

"Will you help me with her?" asks Falco. "I know you don't see eye to eye and I shouldn't ask you anyway, but she's my friend. She needs me."

"What happened to her?"

"I don't know," he replies. "She and her grandmother were arrested shortly before they arrested me. The story they put out about Achillea's death was released the following morning but I heard nothing of 'Rissa until Felix called to say she'd been released without charge and that he'd seen her going into Paradise a few hours ago."

"Forgetting," I say quietly, echoing Narissa's earlier words.

"Yes," he says, brushing his friend's hair from her face and lifting her up again. She moans lightly but doesn't wake.

"I don't think she'd want me to help you," I say, returning to the bathroom so I can hold the door open but not going any further. "She wouldn't want me to see her in such a state."

"She should have thought about that before getting herself into 'such a state' then, shouldn't she?" he replies, and I shrug my shoulders, following him into the room.

I try not to look at the bruises that cover Narissa's almost white skin as Falco gently lowers her into the bath. She wakes up enough to grasp his hand with both of hers and I see the red circles around her wrists where they've obviously been tied. The wounds are bleeding slightly as if they've been recently reopened, but they look old enough to make me think they weren't the result of her being at the place that's haunted my dreams since I went there, not entirely anyway. I shudder at the thought and occupy myself with washing her hair so I don't have to think as much.

However much I attempt to push the feeling of discomfort away, I still find it hard to deal with situations like this, which don't seem to be all that unusual in the Capitol. Drinking to forget isn't unheard of in District One but it's something done in the privacy of your own home where your rivals and the gossips can't take advantage of your loss of control. Nobody back home would allow anyone but the very closest of family to see them if they ended up in this condition. Being here feels wrong.

* * *

A short time later I'm standing in the doorway of the bedroom as Falco draws the blankets up around Narissa before backing towards me, still focused on his friend. She looks different to how she normally does, tiny and vulnerable without her fine clothes and makeup as she lies in the massive bed. She frowns and shakes her head in her sleep, turning onto her side and curling up into a ball as if she's trying to make herself invisible.

"Let her sleep," I whisper to Falco as he takes my hand and squeezes it tightly.

He nods and lets me lead him from the room. He doesn't have to speak for me to know what he's thinking. I can see the pain he feels, the bitter disappointment at how the rebellion plot they'd all thought had been planned so carefully failed before it even started.

There's nothing I can say to make it better, nothing I can do to bring Achillea back and resurrect something that may never get close to becoming reality ever again. I know that, but as I pull my jumper off and throw it to the ground before climbing into bed, I feel like I should say something, that I should at least try.

I open my mouth to speak but Falco raises his hand and covers my lips with a finger, shaking his head.

"Don't," he whispers. "Don't say anything. Just stay here."

I nod and curl up against him, once again only remembering his bruises when it's too late. He exhales sharply but doesn't let me pull away. I find it easy to give up and remain where I am, silently thanking anyone who might be listening that whoever betrayed Achillea wasn't important enough to know more than the barest minimum of detail. Perhaps if he or she had been higher up the ranking list then they'd have known of Falco's involvement and he wouldn't be here with me now. As it was, there wasn't even sufficient evidence to convict Narissa, who had been more heavily involved than anyone but her grandmother. I am more grateful for that than I could ever say.

* * *

It's still dark when I wake up, cold and shivering despite the many blankets on the bed. I instinctively reach out for Falco and sit up instantly when I find his side of the bed empty and cold. It takes my eyes a couple of minutes to get used to the darkness and by the time I'm able to see the outlines of the furniture, I decide I've been sitting here for long enough.

As soon as I push open the bedroom door and slip out into the corridor, I can make out the low sound of people talking. I know I shouldn't interfere and I don't want to eavesdrop but I somehow can't stop my feet from taking me to the slightly ajar door of the guest bedroom. I tentatively push against it and it swings inwards to reveal Falco sitting on a chair beside the bed where Narissa lies, still wrapped up in all of the blankets and twisting her hands together on her lap.

"Sorry," I whisper quietly, looking at Falco. "I didn't mean to disturb you. It's just you'd gone, and…"

He smiles and looks at Narissa, who is staring straight at me. She still looks worse for wear but her eyes are clear and alert in a way they definitely weren't a few hours ago. She shrugs her shoulders.

"You might as well come in because he'll only tell you everything I say anyway."

"I don't have to," I reply, almost laughing inside when I realise this is the first time the Capitolian woman and I have had what might pass for a civilised conversation. It's ironic that it takes something like this to make us achieve it. "I'll just go back to bed."

"Sit down," says Falco, getting up off his chair and pulling himself onto the bed beside Narissa.

I expect myself to feel the familiar pang of jealousy as he takes her in his arms and she leans against him but I don't. She looks so small and broken beside him and the way he looks down at her, the way he holds her, reminds me not of how he holds me but of how I held Gloss when he first came out of the arena. For probably the first time I understand that they've been friends for so long that they are virtually brother and sister.

I cross over to the armchair and take the thick quilted robe Falco offers me, wrapping it tightly around my shivering body and revelling in its warmth. Narissa's breathing is short and shallow, as if she's preparing to say something she doesn't even want to think about. She probably is. Then the floodgates open and she breaks down completely, hiding against Falco's shoulder like she never wants to face the world again as her entire body is racked with the force of her sobs.

"They killed her, Falco," she gasps eventually. "The president's guards. They killed her right in front of me."

"Start from the beginning, 'Rissa," he says, pushing her hair back behind her ear gently. "What happened? What went wrong?"

"We were betrayed," she snarls, suddenly angry despite her grief and tears. "I don't even know who by. I didn't know everyone, nobody did. She said it was the safest way and it turns out she was right. We wouldn't be here now if she hadn't been so careful. But the silly old fool knew everyone involved and they all knew her."

"Surely you must have some idea who the traitor is?" I ask before I can stop myself. I look away, waiting for her anger to fall on me, but surprisingly it doesn't.

"No," she snaps, "I don't. But I will find out, and when I do…"

She sighs and pulls away from Falco slightly, still leaning against him but not clinging to him like she was. She looks up at him and tries to smile but quickly gives up, looking away as she begins to speak again.

"We planned it so well," she says. "Our…friend on the outside was going to take out the communication network and the computer systems just before the meeting and then we were going to make our move and neutralise the president." Hearing that makes me wonder which lucky person had earned the right to that particular task. "But a couple of hours before it was all due to start, Snow's Peacekeepers knocked the door down and it was all over."

"Then what happened?" prompts Falco when she seems to lose her train of thought.

"What do you think? They took us to The Vault for questioning," she replies, visibly shuddering. "Hours and hours it went on for, the same questions and the same answers. I just kept saying that I didn't know what they were talking about and they didn't believe me. And then Grandmother confessed everything and took all the blame herself."

"Why?" I ask, dropping my guard in response to the way her grief has obviously made her drop hers. She's virtually unrecognisable from the woman I've despised for so long.

"Because she knew they'd decided she was guilty anyway. And because she knew that if she died then she'd take the names of all the people involved with her."

"How did she end up dead?" asks Falco. "Why did they kill her before she could name anyone else who was involved? It doesn't make sense."

"She was there in the room with me. She kept winding the Peacekeepers up even as they tortured her and eventually they reacted. They reacted to her words without thinking about practicalities. I guess they didn't remember she was eighty-six until it was too late. They pushed too hard and she wasn't strong enough to take it. She died at my feet with that smug smile on her face to tell me they'd done exactly what she wanted."

"One of the guards killed her?" asks Falco quickly, a shocked expression appearing briefly on his face.

"I believe he's now minus the ability to speak and maintaining the city's sewers," Narissa replies dryly. "How shall I put it? The events of two nights ago didn't go down very well with his superiors."

"What happened then?"

"I don't think they could believe their luck when they first realised they'd actually discovered the leader of the plot. When she died that was all they could focus on. She'd said over and over again that I wasn't involved and I'd been denying everything from the moment they arrested me. They seemed to lose interest and they released me soon after. On the president's orders, apparently, so I guess he's earned himself another slave."

"When they took you to The Vault, did they…did they hurt you in any other way?" asks Falco tentatively, and I know then that he noticed the scratches on her hips just like I did.

Surprisingly, Narissa laughs. "You mean did they rape me?" she replies, shaking her head. "When there was a chance I might still have been released without charge, they didn't dare. There was a chance I would walk out of that prison with my fortune and my reputation, they knew better than to argue with that."

"I just thought…"

She shakes her head. "I'm sure Felix told you where I've been," she says, casting a sidelong glance at me for the first time since she started speaking. I try not to look judgmental but I know far too much about that place to be certain I succeed. "I heard they arrested you as well," she continues, looking back at Falco.

"They questioned me and they let me go. And Vespasian, Phoebe and a couple of others. They couldn't prove anything, Achillea was too careful."

"Good," she replies, her voice as sincere as I've ever heard it in a way that makes me think that, whatever else she is, she does genuinely care about him. "I think I'll be able to sleep now."

She shuffles away from Falco and back down the bed, and I look away as he smoothes her hair back from her face. Then he takes my hand and pulls me to my feet, leading me back to the main bedroom.

"She just needs to sleep it off. She's so strong-willed that she'll be pretending she's back to normal in the morning."

"I don't doubt it," I reply, trying to keep the disapproval from my voice for his sake.

* * *

I wake up when Falco gently shakes me and whispers that it's time for me to go home. I turn around, stretching my arms above my head as I look up at him. Then I remember. Narissa. Achillea. The rebellion that never was.

"Where's Narissa?" I ask, sitting up and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.

"I'm not sure," he replies. "She isn't here. She left before I woke up."

"But I'm back now," says that familiar, lilting voice that part of me will always despise.

I stand up and look towards the door just as Falco opens it to reveal a very different woman to the one I remember from last night. In fact she looks like last night never happened, restored to her usual flawless perfection in a skin-tight, blood red shift dress.

"That's quite a transformation," I say dryly, unable to resist despite what she's been through.

She spins around and walks back down the corridor without a word. Falco follows her so I do as well, watching as she sits down at the kitchen table.

"She always said she'd only involve me if I promised I'd deny everything if we were discovered," she says quietly, talking to Falco and not seeming to either notice or care about my presence. "She asked me to make that promise over and over again, every day when I got up in the morning from the day she told me the story of what happened to my great-uncle and his family when I was ten years old. That's a lot of promises. She wanted me to live and the only way I can do that is by pretending this never happened. So I'm going shopping."

I stare at her, unsure whether to hate her for the flippancy of her last comment or admire her strength of mind.

"I'm sure the stylists will be pleased to see you," says Falco, apparently deciding not to push her and to let her deal with what happened in her own way. "Just promise me one thing, 'Rissa. No more visits to Paradise."

I expect her to look away in shame, but then I realise I should know better. Creatures like Narissa Redsparrow don't do outward displays of embarrassment, even in front of their closest friends.

"Not unless you come with me," she purrs, the confidence back in her voice like it never left.

"I don't think so," I reply, speaking for Falco in a way that obviously amuses the other woman greatly.

"Are you going to stand for that, Minister Hazelwell?" she says. "Letting a mere district girl tell you what you can and can't do."

Falco smirks at her. "I expect so. I've got used to having her around now so I reckon I'd be lost without her."

I try not to smile but I can't help it and I can see Narissa knows it. For once she gives in gracefully, shrugging her shoulders and hugging Falco as she says goodbye. I don't think she intended for me to hear her whispered 'thank you' but I do.

When she's gone Falco turns to me and smiles sadly. He says nothing and doesn't move, so I walk over to him and wrap his arms around me, holding them in place until he eventually tightens his grip.

"I don't know what to do," he says quietly, touching his lips to the top of my head. "Achillea's dream has been keeping me going for so long that I don't know what to do without it."

"You were completely cleared of all charges, weren't you?" He nods in assent. "So you do what Narissa's doing."

"Shopping?" he asks with a smile I feel rather than see.

"No," I reply, rolling my eyes. "I'm being serious, Falco. You have to go to work tomorrow and carry on like nothing's changed. You were questioned about a plot you knew nothing about, they understood that and released you, so you carry on as normal. Give them no cause to suspect the truth."

"But all that work, all that planning. Was it really all for nothing? Was it really over in less than an hour?" he asks, pulling away slightly. I can see the barely suppressed anger in his eyes.

"For now," I reply, dropping my voice to the quietest of whispers. "But Achillea made sure she died without telling the Peacekeepers a single name. The backbone of the plot, the people who were going to make it work, they're all still there. Give it time and maybe someone will begin again."

"We'd nearly done it," he replies. "We could have been free. Panem could have been free. And we wouldn't have to hide anymore."

"And that might still happen," I say firmly, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him. "One day we'll be free, but until then we have to carry on like before and make the best of it. We have no choice, you know that."

"When did you become so wise, Miss de Montfort?" he asks teasingly, and I know then that he'll be able to get through this.

"I've always been wise," I reply. "It's just taken a while for me to convince you to believe it."

"I think you're very convincing, Butterfly. You convinced me when I saw you on that tribute train two years ago and I haven't doubted since."

"I know what I convinced you of that day, _Minister Hazelwell_, and it wasn't my wisdom."

He laughs and points to the door. "Go home. I'll come and see you as soon as I can."

"When?"

"As soon as I can get away without it looking suspicious. It might have to be at the reaping."

"I'm coming back here with Gloss when he mentors," I reply, his mention of the next Games making me remember what I've been meaning to say for a while. "I won't leave him to deal with everything on his own."

"Is that such a good idea?"

"It's the only option I have. I won't leave him."

"You'd best go then. You're giving me a lot of organising to do and there isn't much time."

"I don't know what to say," I tell him, understanding his meaning straight away, knowing that if I'm in the Capitol and not mentoring then the president won't let me rest for long.

"Don't say anything. You don't have to, you know that. I love you and I'll keep you safe so you're still here to remind me I haven't lost everything."

I nod, kissing him and quickly leaving the apartment before I change my mind and go running back to him like I want to. In some ways we have lost everything. Achillea's plot was the nearest thing to revolution Panem has seen in over sixty years and yet it failed in a matter of minutes. However as I told Falco, there's still a chance. It might not be now but at some time in the future it could happen again. The vast majority of people involved remained undetected. And that means there's a chance the rebels could eventually succeed in sending President Snow crashing down even though they haven't been able to achieve it this time. I only hope I'm alive to see it happen. I hope with all my heart that one day I'll be able to watch him fall.

* * *

**_So that's it then. I've finally got to the end..._**

**_Thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed and favourited (including a surprisingly large number of people who have never commented - it's the last chapter...I'd love you to talk to me). I look forward to reading what you think of the end and am now asking you a question at the same time: I have a plan for what I suppose I would call the 'sequel to the sequel'. What do you all think? Shall I post it?_**


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